


If I Believe You

by daddyheloveshim



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Closeted Character, Closeted Harry, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking & Talking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Moral Dilemmas, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Roommates, Singer Harry Styles, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Some angst, Top Harry, Touring, Unrequited, World Travel, Writer Louis Tomlinson, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 274,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddyheloveshim/pseuds/daddyheloveshim
Summary: Harry Styles is the name on everybody's lips: young, handsome and already a bestselling artist at the age of twenty-six. Under a careful wing of overprotective manager whose main goal is to keep his client's squeaky-clean image, he has a bright future ahead of him. Is that all there is to it? What secrets does the boy hide behind the stage?Louis Tomlinson is a young writer, specializing in celebrity biographies. His cutthroat approach and lack of fear to get his hands dirty result in him landing a position that could possibly be his breakthrough and put his name on the map.What challenges will he face on his journey to produce a book to satisfy Styles' fans' hunger? How will he overcome his subject's aversion to himself, and, most of all, to the idea of having a book written about him?I suck at summaries so, essentially, current Harry gets kind of forced into his manager's plan to have a book written about him and now, his life becomes more difficult with every day he spends with the writer who's too intrusive for his own good.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 156
Kudos: 266





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... Hi, I'm back :)  
> This is a little something I've been working on since I've finished "These Four Walls". It's still work in progress but I have a decent amount written in advance so I've decided to finally share this with the world.  
> I've taken a bit different approach with writing this time, I hope it pays off.  
> Whether you're a returning reader, already familiar with my first work or you've randomly stumbled upon this thing and decided to give it a go; welcome (back or not), hope you'll stick around for the ride.  
> This will get updated at least weekly but seeing how I've uploaded the last one, it will be most likely more frequent than that, especially if I'll see that there's interest.

“Mr Azoff will see you shortly.” A tall, blonde woman, led Louis to a small conference room that even in its compactness, intimidated the shit out of him. He sat in one of the chairs and crossed his legs, uncrossing them right after because of… reasons. 

He got bored as time passed. Five minutes, ten, twenty… He would’ve been pissed for unpunctuality of the man if he did not know how characteristic it was for him to be late. Out of five meetings they’ve already had, he arrived on time to one. Apparently, there was no such thing as being on schedule in the entertainment business. Oh well, it’s not like his complaining would speed things up, right?

The clock was ticking, with every single noise irritating the man further as he kicked his leg in anticipation of the end of the meeting that hasn’t even started yet. Not even the game he was playing on his phone was enough to calm him down. It was weird, he never really got nervous around people. On the other hand, he never had an opportunity to make deals with individuals of that magnitude. He never had this much money on the line either.

He still wasn’t sure why the hell did they bother him to come to the headquarters since all he had to do was deliver his signed paperwork; it could’ve easily been done remotely, and he’d much rather pay fifteen bucks to get the documents delivered than waste his time the way he was doing it right now. It’s not like he had anything better to do with his day, but the boss didn’t know that.

It was his sixth time meeting the man with whom he was going to do business, as far as Louis knew, the last one for a while. He could’ve watched a movie in the totalled time he wasted, waiting on the arrogant ass who thought his time was more valuable than everybody else’s. ‘Think about the money…’ The man repeated in his head, and yeah, it helped tremendously. He composed himself with a sigh and spun in his chair for a bit before he got dizzy. That’s how professional Louis was, that’s how he fitted with the surroundings; the glass structure of a building he had no business being in. The thing was, he actually had business; that’s precisely why he hasn’t bolted out of the building just yet. 

Louis was on his fifth cycle of getting pissed and calming himself down when he finally heard a familiar voice from behind the door. The boss exchanged a few sentences with a secretary and at last, arrived in the conference room. Forty-two fucking minutes after he was supposed to get there.

“Louis! Hi, am I late? I’m so sorry, had to deal with an emergency.” Louis had to bite his tongue not to scoff at this smug bastard’s act. Was he late? Oh, sod off! He kept it professional, though. He got up, shook his boss’s hand; the man towered over him just a bit before they both sat down, and the height difference stopped being significant.

“Got the papers signed, everything is in here, checked and ready to go.” The shorter one looked through the sheets once again and slid the folder to the man opposite of him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well, now we’ll get the NDA’s sorted. My secretary was supposed to send you an email, so you get to read through one, did you get it?” The boss seemed to be distracted as he shuffled through the documents, checking whether everything was signed just the way it was supposed to be. He rubbed his chin for some reason, the sound of his skin brushing against rough hair of his beard made Lou’s skin crawl.

“Yeah, we can get this over with.” He retrieved the sizable stack of paper; thousands of point 11 numbers and letters which were nearly offensive in their commonness, printed on just as mundane, white printer sheets, bound with a paperclip. Louis was an advocate of changing things up font-wise, really… Would it hurt someone if the letters had a slightly different shape from time to time? Boring. Use fucking windings for all he cares! 

The man signed the documents in all the places designated for him to do so, he did that with his own pen, which he carried in a pocket of his jeans because of how adult and responsible he was. It proved to be a mistake since he later found out that the fucking thing leaked ink into his pockets, destroying a pair of jeans he bought only last week. “What’s the game plan? I start with the tour, right?” He asked a question, just to be sure as he slid the stack back to the man opposite of him, at the same time, pushing away the memory of multiple breakdowns he had while reading through the NDA, which could’ve been summed up in three words. ‘Don’t say shit.’ Would’ve been just as potent, without dragging the reader through a literal hell while conveying the same, exact message. 

When there was no reason for him to keep his hands on the table, he leaned back and relaxed in his seat. 

“See… not exactly.” Azoff dragged his finger over the edge of the table as he was revoking the first agreement they’ve reached. “I was thinking that perhaps it would be better if you’d get to work before the tour starts. You know, just to hang out, get to know each other. It would suck to lose any material because you’re too awkward around each other, right?” The man asked, still not looking his employee in the eyes. Something incredibly unsettling about the way he purposefully avoided Lou’s inspecting gaze. The writer nodded nonetheless, didn’t matter that the guy couldn’t see it happening; his eyes stuck somewhere on a wall behind Louis, probably inflating his overgrown ego even further as he glanced at all the plaques and diplomas that were hung there. 

Thankfully, Tomlinson kind of mastered the art of suppressing his genuine reactions around that particular guy. If he hadn’t, their meetings would’ve been a festival of rolling eyes, frustrated sighs and snarky comments. Not ideal when you’re dealing with somebody who could possibly secure you financially for the rest of your life. 

He was lucky to be where he was, of course. There were thousands of people that would’ve slit his throat to take his place, but somehow, Louis was not even sure why; it was him who was chosen for that project. Azoff himself explained that he enjoyed the cutthroat way that he approached topics, which for other people might’ve been considered taboo. Basically, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty in search of the truth. It was both a blessing and a curse since as much as people were interested in the dirt he exposed about figures he wrote about, he got quite a lot of shit for giving them exactly what they wanted.

“I guess we could do that. Email me the details. Sorry, I can’t stay any longer.” The man lied, turning his head to hide a smirk that for a quick second won with his frosty composure. “Have something important planned, didn’t realize this was going to take so long.” The writer pressed his lips in a thin line, stood up, straightened his t-shirt and exchanged another handshake with a man who looked quite flabbergasted with the occurrence. Perhaps he never got the taste of his own medicine, oh well… that was none of Louis’ problem. “Right, I’d appreciate if you could fix me with a laptop. I don’t work on my private one. You know, work-life balance and stuff. Anyway, it was good seeing you today. See you… someday?” The overly sweet, venomous smile was the last thing the boss had a chance to see before Louis strutted out of the room.

Tomlinson felt a weird type of invigorated when he left the man who disrespected him countless times already. He still could recall his boss’s mouth, rounded in a surprise when he was abandoned before he got a chance to do that himself, which inevitably was going to happen; all five of their previous meetings ended in an excuse because ‘something important’ came up. Azoff couldn’t be too mad since it was him who was forty minutes late, right? 

Sunglasses got slipped onto Lou’ nose when the bright beams of LA sun, bounced off the glass panels forming nearby buildings, shone directly into the man’s blue eyes. He was yet to get accustomed to the weather, so much different than in his permanent residence, which was located in gloomy London where the sun was present perhaps a third of the year and not the whole time like it was in the city of angels.

If this day couldn’t have gotten worse, the man got stuck in traffic. Of course, he could’ve predicted it. The streets were blocked at any given moment, but somehow, that time turned out to be more irritating than ever before. His fingers were tapping aggressively on the leather stretched on the steering wheel of the Prius he rented upon getting to the states. The fake chirping of radio hosts, pretty much the same throughout all available stations, did not ease his nerves at all. 

It was weird, Louis knew that technically he shouldn’t have been nervous anymore; his deal was finalized, and he had something to work on after quite a break he had. Perhaps that was the cause of his distress, though. It’s not like he ever did something like that. Yes, he wrote books about famous people, but there’s a difference between writing about someone behind their backs, collecting material on your own and pretty much following some washed-up pop star around the world to write something his fans would buy.

The writer voiced his concerns on the second meeting he had with his employer, in the beginning, more people were joining their gatherings, but the real negotiating only happened between the two either way. Jeffrey seemed to contemplate a bit around that information, but he only dismissed it with a smirk; Louis was later told that the book was going to sell no matter what, as long as there was going to be his subject’s face on the cover. 

After getting that information, the author decided not to doubt himself anymore. Fuck, the money that was on the line could’ve set him up for several lifetimes; he’d have to be an imbecile to turn the opportunity down only for it to get snatched by another writer of generic biographies. Hell, he could write one of those too. Not to mention that he was going to have a nice, around the world vacation, courtesy of mister Azoff.

He was just getting to his rented apartment when his phone dinged on the passenger’s seat, entirely disappeared somewhere in the depths of the bag of groceries he stopped to buy. Well… ‘groceries’ were quite an overstatement; just some processed food, wrapped in appealing, colourful packaging. There was no point of doing a big haul when he wasn’t even sure how much he had left till he’s off on the adventure of a lifetime. His attitude towards his boss perhaps wasn’t very positive, but there was no denying that the deal he just finalized most likely his ‘big break’.

 _“Everything went well, it’s on.”_ The man messaged his mother as soon as he retrieved his phone from the paper bag. His battery almost wholly drained, its state greatly influenced by the time he spent playing games while he waited for Azoff. Fuck, he should’ve asked for a phone too.

The writer was preparing to go to sleep when his phone announced a notification for whichever time that day. The sun was long gone from the sky, the heat still as exhausting as ever. All of his windows were opened, not providing any significant relief since nothing was pushing the air through the flat. So there, he was. Sweaty, even though he took a shower mere thirty minutes before. He was on his yet another deep dive, searching for everything he could find on his next subject. 

‘What’s your deal, Harry Styles?’ he looped in his head as he scrolled through Twitter, which, to be completely honest, was a stupid idea, considering the magnitude of following the guy had. All he found there were hundreds of thirst tweets from girls that had nothing better to do than… whatever the fuck they were doing there. Was he really THAT hot? Louis was not sure he got the hype. He was kind of weird looking, at least at first glance. He decided to leave the decision for when he gets to see the man with his own eyes. Which reminded him of… yep, he got the email he asked for.

 _“Louis,”_ not even dear? Did he piss the boss off that much with his attitude? Perhaps, oh well… The message did not look like a notice of being sacked, so Azoff couldn’t have been that mad. “ _due to your request, I’m sending you all the necessary details you will need to get to Harry’s. You’re going to be awaited to arrive on the twenty-third, the exact time is yours to decide.”_

Here it was? This was the message? The attached file only disclosed the address and brief instructions on how he was going to access the gated community the even-bigger-boss was a part of.

How fancy, intimidating even. Twenty-third was way earlier than Louis had anticipated starting working. Well, as far as Azoff said, there wasn’t going to be much work in those first few days he was going to stay at Styles’. It was time for them to get used to each other’s presence before they head for the lengthy tour where they will have to, inevitably spend a lot of time together as Tomlinson works on the book he’s been commissioned to write.

It got late quicker than Louis got the chance to notice that it did. The clock above his door passed three in the morning when the man was still crossing a diagram, the only way he could somewhat understand the confusing web of his subject’s numerous ex’s. It was… a lot. The timelines were unclear, some girlfriends even overlapping which was, well… kind of yikes. Well, the guy sure seemed to be quite a philanderer, sleeping around with Hollywood’s most eligible, young women. Louis was not there to judge, though. He had a job to do, perhaps some of these beauties were going to make a cameo in his book? It sure would help to up the sales.

Either way, it was past three in the morning, and he had quite a lot to do on the last day before he gets to move in with his new, high-profile roommate whom he hasn’t even met. The thought quite terrifying since he never met the people his previous books were about, all of them dead, which was better for him to be honest.

-

“Bollocks!” The man cursed under his breath when for whichever time he fell victim of the faucet installed in the shower of the dingy apartment he’s been renting ever since he arrived in LA. He slipped and almost fell to his death at least a dozen times because apparently, having control over the water temperature was not something he had the luxury of doing. Well… whatever. It was Louis’ last shower in this goddamned caricature of living space so, he only patted his shoulders to relieve the skin that had already flushed red, after being scorched and in the last attempt to make things better, he doused himself in water that was perhaps a bit too cold for his liking.

“Off to a great start.” Tomlinson sneered as he dragged his bare feet from the shower, leaving wet stains all over the tiled floor while he got to the mirror which completely fogged up throughout his morning shower. It did not matter that the temperature was significantly warmer where he temporarily resided, he still enjoyed a warm shower from time to time. Especially after his morning runs, which he was somewhat consistent in taking. Although, he regretted the decision to go for one that particular morning very much. He already felt his legs more than he ever should have and at ten in the morning, the day had barely started. Fuck, usually, he’s not even awake at this time.

But it was no ordinary day, that one. He was just about to start the adventure of his lifetime at the side of a guy who occupied charts for months now. ‘Yeah, that’s gonna be great!’ He gave himself a silent, ironic pep-talk after he swiped the mirror with his palm and uncovered his reflection. He looked like… well, shit. Honestly, he probably should’ve slept longer instead of procrastinating his packing, the action which in consequence, led to him spending maybe two hours in bed that particular night since he finished gathering his belongings around six in the morning.

Of course, he wasn’t packing this whole time. It’s not that he had a lot of things. He landed in the states with barely anything. His luggage consisted mostly of essential items, like documents he’d need for travelling, his array of electronic devices which he used to write and entertain himself, a spare change of clothes and of course, some of his favourite snacks he was going to keep for whenever he got homesick. Is it necessary to say that his plan didn’t pan out? He ended up eating his little stash in short of a week, he was just a weak human, there’s no need to be judgemental.

So, while he convinced himself that he was packing the whole time, he wasn’t. The entire debacle took him perhaps an hour. Really, bundling up clothes (which he had not that much, to begin with, he still had to do some shopping before the tour starts) did not take that much time. It was the numerous, pointless breaks he took, spent on nothing in particular that were his biggest mistake.

At one point, he found himself prancing the unimpressive studio to the sound of Backstreet Boys’ greatest hits, which could’ve been his lowest point yet. Of course, he’d rather die than confess to any of this, not like there was somebody around at three in the morning to witness his fall from grace. 

He was done packing around four in the morning, it still did not stop him from taking a deep dive into the YouTube rabbit hole in search of every piece of Harry Styles content available. There was not a lot of it, unfortunately; Lou’s investigation left him frustrated. He thought he’d find something on the guy, just to know how he handles himself, so he’d know how to approach him but no… there was nothing other than a plethora of live-recordings from his first tour. Well, the only thing the writer had learned was that the man was capable of saying perhaps four words per minute. Seriously, Louis had put the interviews on twice the speed, and the star still did not speak in the tempo an average person would speak in. Ah… if anything, the mysterious persona was going to help drive up the sales. People had to be curious about what is going on in that noggin of Harry’s, right?

Still, at that particular time, when Louis wanted to gather at least some traits the guy was exuding in order to find a way to gain his trust… Styles’ secretive nature was everything but helpful.

He wasn’t planning on getting up so early, to be completely honest. He did not have a set time to get into his new, fancy residence so, he was looking forward to sleeping in. But no, obviously the heavens were not gracious enough to let him make up for the lack of sleep. It was something around seven in the morning when his neighbour’s chihuahua, the most annoying creature, really; started yapping right below his opened window. 

There was no need to say that no matter the number of juicy insults the man had thrown at the stupid animal, it would not shut up! At one time, Tomlinson even involved a spray bottle his landlord told him to use to water the plants (of-fucking course, he did not do that) and started attacking the idiotic rat of a dog with cold water, which in retrospect might have not been a good idea either way since the yapping only intensified.

All his stuff was packed-up already, there was no piece of Harry Styles media publicity he was a stranger to, so, after quite a while of tossing on the bed, trying to fall back to sleep; Louis decided to run around the neighbourhood for one, last time. He wasn’t very sentimental, not at all, especially that he spent not even a month in his LA flat but still, it’s not like he had anything better to do at the moment. 

But now, he was already past his morning routine. His teeth were brushed, his shower was taken care of, his legs were pretty much dead so… what else he had to do? Well… breakfast. He could use a brekkie after the run he had in the sun, that thankfully, was relatively lenient on him which wasn’t that surprising, considering that it was still early and the golden circle of fire had not yet reached its full potential.

His belongings were already in the boot of a rental he was driving in the states, and yet, he still had to come back to the apartment complex to return his keys. There was a chance that he did throw quite a saucy cluster of insults at the owner of the horrible bastard of a dog that woke him up on more than one occasion. It was a unique opportunity, he wasn’t going to ever return to that godawful place, so he could let himself get personal, especially, that he tried to peacefully resolve the situation more than once, each time without any result. He felt that his little outburst was justified as he was giving a girl, who claimed her profession was an influencer, a lecture about respect, good manners and shared space. It was quite of a spectacle, some of the neighbours peeked their heads from behind the door to watch Louis blow some steam off but why would he care?

He did not even look back at the complex before he sped off into the direction showed on his mobile, which he also used as navigation since he did not know anything about the city. Hell, he couldn’t even properly navigate around London where he spent years, let alone LA, where he barely arrived.

The cold air was blowing in his face as he ate his In-N-Out in the car on a parking lot like a mess he was. Was burger an excellent choice for breakfast? Absolutely not, he was more than sure he’d come to regret that decision later in the evening when he was bound to suffer from indigestion one way or another. Well… the damage was already done. He was almost finished with his food, his stomach lined with a thick layer of grease before a part of it could settle in his arteries. He chewed, swaying his head ever so slightly to the sound of a song he was ashamed to admit he liked. He felt repulsed by the majority of the stuff that was charting at the moment, or maybe his aversion was far from recent. The music has gone to shit in the last decade; there was something catchy in the radio from time to time, but he’d rather resort to his own playlists he was listening to on a loop. 

Ah, there was one thing he could always count on. No matter how his day started, there was always going to be traffic he could waste his time in! This time wasn’t any different at all. Obviously, mister superstar had to live in the neighbourhood the furthest away from the one Louis was living in. On the other hand, what business would the critically acclaimed Prince Of Pop have in a shithole filled with unemployed aspiring celebrities? Nothing, naturally. 

It took Louis quite a bit to get through the traffic, the whole debacle resulting in a migraine which may or may not had been caused by the horrid radio picks, or just the lack of sleep but no… the man was convinced that it was the music. He was winding around the curvature of the road, leading to the neighbourhood that was thankfully not that far away from where he was when a familiar melody hit his ears. It was no other than mister superstar himself who pushed his presence on Tomlinson earlier than the writer would’ve wanted. That’s why he found himself skipping to another station where they were playing ABBA, and the man was not sure whether of two evils was worse.

Just for the record; Louis did not hate the music his subject was putting out, he was indifferent to most of it. Once he got the call about the potential deal, he gave the two albums the man released a go and, well… it was not something he’d find himself listening to, but he’s heard worse. The thing was, he was going on tour with the man for the bigger part of the year; he was supposed to follow the guy wherever he goes, and he could already see himself getting sick of the songs he was bound to hear dozens of times. It was just his way of postponing the inevitable breakdown, even if for one day.

The description of the process of getting cleared by the security was severely simplified in Azoff’s instructions. Honestly, he shouldn’t have spent there a tenth of the time it took him to get through, yet, he was there for a solid twenty minutes. But he got through, eventually. He was close to taking his own life by splitting his head open on the steering wheel quite a few times before he succeeded but eh, it was going to be easier next time, wasn’t it?

Finding the right building did not take even remotely as long as getting through the gate since Louis had already seen the pictures of residence on the internet (Thanks TMZ!). When he pulled over on the driveway, he was greeted by clean lines of a white building that stood out from the blue of the sky, undisturbed by a single cloud. It was stupid but the first thing that popped into his brain when he saw the residence, were those modern dollhouses which the author remembered playing with in kindergarten. It was huge, enormous. Louis was pretty positive that the mansion was perhaps three hundred thousand times bigger than his London place, which is not small, not at all; it is just the right size for one dude; at least that’s what the writer thought. Apparently, Harry Styles had a different idea about the applicable amount of space one person needed to live comfortably. Well, for each their own.

The nerves started seeping into the writer’s head when he stood there, on the driveway. It felt like something in between the anxiety of having a job interview and asking somebody out on a date when you’re like fifteen. He felt like a dumbass, he sat in the car; the temperature inside of the metal box started spiking quite rapidly and just when he felt the smallest beads of sweat setting on his upper lip, he left the vehicle, only to be welcomed by the ruthless sun that was even worse in the hills. Perhaps he was naïve, but the security of the gated community was convincing enough that he didn’t even bother locking the car before he headed for the door made out of wood, but that’s the most detail the man could give about the material. He was not a fucking carpenter, after all.

Louis shook his hands to get the blood pumping through his body that stiffened during his lengthy drive; only then he realized how stupid he had to look like to anybody who had a chance of watching him. And he was sure that somebody was looking, he could feel the eyes of a stranger on his silhouette. Well, here goes nothing. With just a sliver of anxiety, swelling with each and every second, taking up more and more of his brain capacity, the man dragged his feet over the paved path before he climbed three stairs and pushed the doorbell. His hands might have been trembling just a tad when he did that, but he might have been mistaken. 

He started getting impatient when the seconds passed, and there was still nobody to greet him. He was reassured that there was going to be somebody in the house all day, so it’s not that the building was empty. Yeah, if the owner, a maid or whoever was supposed to let him in, were somewhere in the depths of the mansion, they surely needed some time to get to the door. On the other hand, he was certain that somebody was observing him from the moment he arrived so, what in the hell took them so long? It was hot, he was sweating, and all he wanted to do was to step inside the air-conditioned heaven, hidden just behind the door.

At last, after perhaps three minutes of waiting, the door had opened, revealing a middle-aged woman who might have been anybody. He was yet to find out who it was since nobody spoke for an awkwardly long moment.

“Hello, I’m Louis. I’m supposed to… I don’t know, move in for a while or something?” The man reached his hand, and he was greeted with a handshake. ‘Good first impression, idiot.’ He silently reprimanded himself after this outstanding performance of his eloquence. Thank god it wasn’t the big boss himself, he’d sure have the man speechless about his expert way of using language, like a real fucking wordsmith, right?

The woman looked at him, a shadow of a doubt swivelling behind her brown eyes before she stepped aside and let the guest in. “Of course, mister Styles mentioned your arrival.” The lady smiled at Lou, who now was passing her in the doorway. He gazed at her from head to toe, just enough to have a clear view of her form. She was shorter than Louis was, which for a woman was neither a lot nor a little. Her blonde-dyed hair required a retouch, just at the roots which spoiled her secret of being a natural redhead. She was skinny, even though it wasn’t really easy to assess, considering that she was wearing an outfit that pretty successfully prevented Louis from seeing her actual build. Well, whatever. It’s not like he was some kind of fucking fitness guru, judging people left and right. Why would he care?

Nobody told him he should do that; even more, the woman who greeted him was wearing footwear, but Louis decided to get rid of his shoes, he toed the heavily-worn vans off his feet and kicked them to the left of the door, so nobody could trip on them upon entry. It wasn’t anything related to his manners, he knew that some people were particular about the no shoes at home thing, but he couldn’t care less. It was strictly linked to his comfort, he hated wearing shoes and avoided doing so every chance he got. 

When he finished evaluating the woman who was still accompanying him, he moved to examining the hall of the most impressive house he ever had a chance to step a foot in. The hall was striking enough. The floor looked like marble; he had no grounds to doubt that it was exactly that. The stone felt chilly under Lou’s socked feet, bringing him great relief from the sun, which almost pushed him into a heat stroke while he was waiting for the door to be opened. The walls were an off-white colour, he would’ve guessed that it was the eggshell one everybody was raving about, but he could’ve been speaking out of his ass, it was white. White is white, for the love of god! Space could’ve easily looked sterile and cold, but due to somebody’s (Louis doubted that it was Harry’s) eye for interior design, it wasn’t the case at all. It looked like every space the writer would expect to see in Architectural Digest if he ever reached for one, which he obviously was not going to do. 

Plants upon plants in pots that were so mismatched, they somehow looked right together. There was everything! Wicker, macramé, ceramic painted in the most ridiculous patterns that clashed with each other in the most bizarre, yet aesthetically pleasing way. The leaves were green and plump, casting shadows on the light floor due to the neutral light falling from the chandelier that fulfilled the role of a centrepiece. It was interesting, honestly. It looked like unique, magnificent craftsmanship that somehow worked in the space despite the piece being quite industrial.

Only when his companion had cleared her throat, Louis realized that he probably should’ve said something because the silence seemed to be dragging for years already. He cussed himself out just a skosh, pushed his hands into his pockets since he did not know what to do with them and locked his gaze on the blonde’s face. “Mister Styles is not here, I presume?” He raised his eyebrow and swayed his shoulders for some reason when he followed the woman… somewhere.

The lady hasn’t looked at him as she took the lead. “No, no… Harry’s not here. He left in the morning; I haven’t seen him today.” At last, the two found themselves in a space which was unmistakably a living room. Louis scanned the surroundings briefly. A huge, modular couch was the centre of attention. It was graphite in colour and looked gloriously soft. So, fucking soft, actually. The writer, in his current state of sleep-depravation, dreamed of curling up in one of the corners and disappearing in between numerous throw pillows which were brilliantly mismatched, just as the plant pots in the entrance hall. “He left me a note, however. He asked me to tell you to make yourself at home until he gets back and can give you a proper tour.” Woman’s face lit up by a smile, her thin lips stretched over relatively white teeth. Relatively, only because in the city of angels, everybody had one of those smiles that could blind you if the sun hit it correctly. She did not have one of those. Some of her teeth crooked even, which only made Louis less embarrassed about his own set, which was similarly flawed.

Louis turned around on the heel of his foot as he took in space around him and returned to blonde’s face immediately. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name?” The question slipped out of his smirked lips; he knew that he did not know the name because she hasn’t given it. “Am I going to see you here regularly? Does it get busy in here?” His hands found their way back to the pockets after the man swung them around awkwardly. Honestly, he’d just rather be left alone.

“Oh, sorry. Forgot to introduce myself.” The woman laughed as she rolled her sleeves up. “I’m Laura, and yes, you’ll be seeing me here from time to time.” The woman reached, and they exchanged the handshake once again. “Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I’m here. I’m a housekeeper. It does not get too busy, not lately, anyway. We have a gardener pop in once a week and other than that, the boss enjoys his solitude.” Laura explained, and for some, unknown reason, the writer dwelled on the last sentence perhaps a little longer than he should have.

On the other hand, he was there precisely for that kind of stuff. Harry Styles, the international megastar is a loner? Check, added to the catalogue of things Louis had to write down later not to forget, his memory is quite a feeble one, which did not help in his profession. He also took a mental note to engage in conversation with the housekeeper whenever he got the chance. Who could’ve known more than that woman?

“How long have you been working for him?” The man tried to sound as uninterested as possible, not to give away that the second he learns something, he’s going to use it. To be honest, he had no idea whether the woman knows why he was even moving in or not. “I know we just met, but you’d tell me if he was an asshat? Wouldn’t you?” He took an opportunity to snag her into some light banter.

It worked, seemingly. The ringing laughter emerged from her throat when she flung her hand in a dismissing gesture. “Oh, no… not at all. Couldn’t be further away from that.” The lady still smirked as she seemed to be counting something on her fingers. “I’ve been working in this house for seven years already, Harry bought it around two years ago.” 

The writer took a few steps and settled himself in the corner of the couch; he felt around some of the pillows and put the one he deemed the most suitable, behind his back, so it supported his loins, quite strained from the long drive. “Is he here a lot? How is he, like… personally?” He inquired, the woman hasn’t joined him on the couch, although she did move, so they could maintain eye contact. 

“He made it very clear that he doesn’t want me to talk about him, with you especially.” The lady pressed her lips together as she gifted Louis a confounded smile. “He does spend a lot of time here, especially now. Yeah, I guess it’s better if I go back to my business.” The woman brushed her hair back with spread fingers. “Are you hungry? I usually don’t do that, but I could fix you a sandwich since you’re new here.” A flippant shrug shook the housekeeper’s lean silhouette.

“Oh, don’t bother yourself. I ate on my way here, thank you though. We cook on our own, then?” Louis was not very excited about the opportunity of using Styles’ kitchen, which surely was as magnificent as the rest of the house, but still, he was the shittiest cook on the planet. Well, he’ll have to ask the host himself how he feels about him using Postmates for every meal. It couldn’t be that easy, considering how long it took him to get through the goddamned gate.

Whatever, he’ll have to make use of the freezer and stock up on frozen pizzas and other ready-meals when he pops into the store tomorrow. He wasn’t going to expose himself to the trauma of getting through the security again, he had enough for one day. He’d rather starve, than go through the hassle, to be completely honest.

“Yes. If Harry doesn’t eat out, he usually cooks for himself.” Laura dragged a finger on the rim of a lampshade as she was looking for dust and turned around, had she not found any. “Anyway, I’m going back to work. I’ll be upstairs if you need me. See you soon?” She asked, already taking steps to return to the hall.

Louis nodded a few times, the couch swallowing him whole as he wondered if he’d have a chance to take a quick nap before the boss arrives. “Of course, see you.” The writer smiled over his shoulder and was left alone with his thoughts. How unprofessional would it be of him to snooze for a tad? Honestly, he was going to live there for four weeks, starting now, so… technically, he was ‘at home’. 

After all, he decided that the nap wasn’t the best idea even if the couch pretty much begged him to take one. He grabbed a TV remote from the coffee table that carried the industrial craftsmanship from the hallway with its reclaimed wood and mixed metal elements. It was huge; looked like it was custom made, for that particular space which probably wasn’t as abstract of a concept for Styles as it was for him. The price tag most likely matched the furniture itself in the magnitude, and all Louis could think about was his hundred quid coffee table which he bought over four years prior. It was still a splurge at the time, it was the most expensive one at IKEA!

Louis chuckled to himself; he crossed his legs in the air as he lied down on the couch which made him feel like he was floating; somewhere up in the clouds, even though there were none on the sky as far as he was aware. But he felt like he was there, with the birds on his way to heaven. Heaven, which at the moment seemed so achievable. Really, all he fucking needed was a nap. Just fifteen minutes, is it too much to ask for? Yes, it was. He was vulnerable in his sleep, he was pathetic. He knew he was mumbling in his sleep; he’s always been. He was also drooling, which was not ideal since every single pillow he was surrounded with was most likely worth more than his entire existence.

So, he turned on the impressive flat-screen, hung up on the wall, which was the same colour as the ones in the hallway. At least that’s what Louis thought was the case. You never know with those interior designers anymore. They’ll show you three swatches of the same fucking colour and claim that they’re different. Of course, it could be his unskilled, man eyes, but he doubted that it was only him who had the same struggle. 

The floors were hardwood and Tomlinson was pretty sure it was walnut, only because his mother had similar coloured floors in her house. Of course, it was an insult to the flooring in Harry’s place to be compared to the cheap laminate they’ve gotten at Wickes for Lou’s mum, but he only meant the colour. 

His hand was hanging off the couch, grazing the soft carpet as he rocked his limb, staring at a piece of art hanging in between two, floor to ceiling windows that outlooked the garden Louis couldn’t wait to explore. Not now, though. He thought it was rude to roam around before he got Styles’ permission. The art was bizarre and, to be quite honest, Louis was not even sure what he was looking at. Well, he was never big into the visual arts. But from what he could see, the man… boy really, since Harry was younger than Louis, had quite a peculiar taste. Of course, if it was he who picked the pieces and not some person who told the singer what’s cool and what’s not. 

The writer added to his mental notes to ask the boy about the things scattered around the house. He had barely seen anything, yet he was intrigued. The decorations were daring, seemingly not even belonging to the same space and yet, somehow, they worked together, bringing this chaotic, eclectic feel to rooms which would otherwise look bland.

After too much of pondering about the interior of his subject’s house, Louis finally focused on the TV that cast a plethora of colours on the man’s face as he shuffled through the channels. He left it on some insignificant sitcom which never ‘made it’; overshadowed by the bigger, more popular ones at the time when new ones were pumped out every month in hopes, these would follow the success of Friends and whatnot, most of them never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is cut at weird spot but that's the only place I could split it without it looking weird since 15k chapter wasn't something I wanted to kick the story off with.  
>  Anyways, leave something after yourself if you find yourself enjoying the chapter, share it, comment, whatever you see fit.  
>  Thanks for taking the time to read my stuff, keep tight.  
>  As always, you can find me on Twitter @gerardisonfire (I'm kinda ia on there but I'm lurking so don't hesitate to hmu)


	2. Chapter 2

“Bloody hell.” The man grunted when he opened his eyes to find himself in almost complete darkness, disturbed only by the orange light seeping through the cracks of the blackout blinds somebody had closed after he, unwillingly, fell asleep. He perfectly remembered the way the sun was shining in his face when he struggled to stay awake, staring at the TV, too lazy or perhaps, comfortable to move out of the sun.

What he didn’t remember was the softness of a blanket that was bunched in front of him as the writer embraced it. It must’ve been Laura who covered him upon his dozing off. How nice of her. 

The TV was off, the house was completely silent as Louis turned on his back, staring at the dark ceiling before he was ready to make a move; if he was ever going to be ready to make one. What exactly was he supposed to do now? He had no idea where anything was, which was quite alarming, considering that he felt that his bladder had filled up during his nap, foreshadowing an adventure of searching for a bathroom, which couldn’t have been that hard to find. There was probably like fifty in the house. 

Tomlinson released a loud groan when his body stretched out on the couch; a loud thud emerging when the man pushed his phone off the furniture. He sat on his bum, cross-legged and stared into the darkness for a quick second before the whole room started illuminating, the occurrence accompanied by the mechanical murmur of the blinds, which with every passing second, were higher up, giving the light of the setting sun more entryway. 

Startled by the sudden commotion, the writer twisted his head to see what could’ve triggered the blinds and he sure found what he was looking for. In the doorway separating the living room from the hallway, a man was stood up, leaning on the frame with arms crossed; his face still illegible since the light had not yet reached the silhouette. 

Nobody said anything, the two of them just staring at each other before the sun finally uncovered the secret of the identity of the second man. It was, in fact, Harry Styles. He looked different than he did in the pictures Louis had seen on the internet, even the most recent ones. For starters, he had a beard, matching his dark hair in colour. The facial hair was, well… a choice. Rather than give the man some ragged sex-appeal, it made him look… borderline homeless. Really, it looked like one of those beards that adolescent boys wore just for the sake of flaunting that they’re able to grow one. Louis couldn’t say that he wasn’t guilty of this offence as well, maybe a decade prior. Well, perhaps the guy was a late bloomer, who cares?

The man in the doorway stood on his both legs, stumbled just a little when he started walking towards the writer. He pushed his big hands into the pouch of his hoodie that had a logo on the front, one that Tomlinson could recognize as his employer’s. In a matter of seconds, Louis sat maybe two feet away from the big boss, who looked nowhere as intimidating as the ‘smaller’ boss. His dark eyebrows were knit together in a frown as he kept his intense gaze on the stranger’s face. His legs wide, elbows propped on the knees as he leaned to reach Lou’ smartphone, putting the device on the coffee table. Still, not a single word escaped his lips. 

“Hey.” The host finally spoke, his silhouette straightened in the armchair while he pressed his lips together in a smile that seemed everything but genuine. His voice matched his rough appearance, it was even deeper than Louis remembered it to be on the recordings. Like there were razors in his throat that dug into the flesh, every time he produced a sound. Maybe they were, and that’s why the man acted like talking was the biggest struggle he faced in his life. 

The right moment to speak passed before Louis had realized that it ever was there. Now, he was just staring awkwardly at the man who did not seem to be uncomfortable under his scrutiny; the writer could only assume that he was used to stranger’s curiosity. His face was as blank as ever while he waited to be addressed, although it was visible that he started getting impatient. He was fidgeting with his fingers, each passing second the tapping, twisting and pulling more aggressive, the progression eventually forcing Tomlinson to speak since he was making a fool out of himself. “Hi, I’m… sorry about that. I did not mean to fall asleep I just…” The man stopped when he found his brain empty. It was curious, really, the whole malfunction that happened for no reason whatsoever. Yeah, MAYBE, just maybe he was slightly intimidated by Harry’s presence, which was weird in the first place, after all, the singer’s presence was not dominating in the slightest, he should’ve felt relaxed; yet, he didn’t.

The man opposite Louis might have smirked, but the chances were that was wishful thinking; it was too dark for Lou to see properly. The owner stopped twisting his fingers and put both of his elbows on the armrest of the chair, which didn’t look even remotely as comfortable as the couch. He inhaled deeply, his eyes back on Tomlinson’s face from where they wandered around his form. “You’ve made yourself at home, that’s exactly what I’ve told you to do. Well… Laura did, but you know what I mean.” This time, the writer was certain that the smallest of smirks was bending Styles’ lips, somewhat covered by his unkempt facial hair. The man quickly pulled his hand off the armrest and covered his lips with his slender fingers as if he was embarrassed about his teeth or something. Louis found the whole thing bizarre; he perfectly knew that Harry’s teeth were far from shameful. Maybe it’s just a tic or something that he does. 

Tomlinson did not get a lot of time to contemplate about the origin of his new roommate’s strange behaviour before the man inhaled slowly. He pushed the hood of his jumper off his head, revealing a bunch of dark, bouncy hair that gracefully fell in their rightful place. It was quite annoying, really. How effortlessly Harry’s hair just looked… good. Louis could’ve bet that his wouldn’t look nearly as nice even if he’d spend an hour styling them. Well, God has his favourites and neither of them is Louis, apparently. “Okay, get up.” The brunette commandeered as he stood up himself. The guest was hesitant if his legs were ready to carry the weight of his body just yet, but he dared to get off the couch, the action quickly regretted when he did, in fact almost fall.

Thankfully, Harry was right next to him, alert enough to catch him when he stumbled and Louis could practically feel the redness bloom on his cheeks. God, why did he have to be such an uncoordinated mess? Could he ever make a first impression without embarrassing the shit out of himself? He did not know, it had never happened before, so that could be a good indication that it was simply impossible. He quickly composed himself, kicked the carpet three or four times to bring back his left leg, the one that had a harder time waking up after his nap and after that activity has concluded, he was somewhat ready to do whatever the hell Styles needed him for. Only somewhat since he knew that he was still red as a tomato, it was evident in the way how hot his face felt. He could’ve gotten away with it in the orange light falling on them through the windows, in fact, he knew that his flush went unnoticed, but as soon as they’d step into any source of artificial light, he’d be done for. Blushing even further in multiplied embarrassment which would lead only to more shame, more red; in the end, Louis would just become a first ever case of a blushing Perpetuum Mobile.

“Oops.” Styles’ shoulders shook in a light chuckle, the vibrations tangible on Lou’s skin before the younger man decided it’s safe to let go of the writer’s arm. Long limbs fell where they’ve belonged before they shifted as the man pushed his palms into the pockets of black sweatpants he was wearing. 

In the desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable moment of leaving the living room, Louis leaned down to the couch, gathered the softest blanket he’s ever felt; the same one someone, most likely Laura covered him with and started folding it. Of course, he focused on the task greatly, matching every corner exactly, his pretended attention to detail, gaining him a few seconds, and he could already feel his cheeks coming back to normal. “What are we doing?” The author finally asked, feeling that perhaps, he should be a little chattier, considering that it’s exactly what he was hired to do.

“I guess I should show you around the house, at least the most essential spots.” The man pushed the hair off his face, turned on his heel and started walking towards the doorway to the left of the couch, the one, Louis knew didn’t lead to the hall. Of course, he followed. Somewhat eagerly taking in the small space before they stopped in the middle. “Here, we have a little bar thingy, it was here when I bought the place. Sometimes, when I have people over, it comes useful, but I don’t intend on doing that before the tour starts so yeah… it’s here if you ever fancy a drink or whatever.” 

“Talk about essentials.” Tomlinson scoffed; his joke successfully provided the desperately needed comedic relief to their conversation that did not flow nearly as effortlessly as Louis hoped it would. Well, thank God they had those four weeks to work over the issue. Harry hasn’t taken over the banter, only smiled under his nose as they walked into the next room, that one didn’t need an introduction. 

“The dining room. It is meant to be eaten in. I, personally, use it as a dust collector.” The singer presented the dark table with matching chairs that could seat twelve if Lou’s quick math skills were to be trusted. Contrary to Harry’s words, the guest could not see a single speckle of dust on any of the furniture, the same went for the plants which were quite a prominent theme throughout all four rooms Louis had a chance of seeing. This time, the pots were more elegant, though. The walls and flooring stretched from the living room. It was rather nice, but he could see why one wouldn’t want to eat here, especially alone. “You’re free to use it if that’s what you like.” 

“Of course, I’ll make sure every specimen of my extensive dust collection finds its resting place in here. Well, at least as long as we’re roomies.” Louis shook his head at the idiotic joke he just made; somehow, he was full of those. His mood severely lifted by the nap he took. He could only see the back of the taller man’s head, but he heard the way he pushed the air out of his nostrils, clearly stating that those stupid jokes amused him, or he just wanted to be polite. Who knew? Not Louis.

“I hope your collection is properly marked. If not, I can see it being a nightmare trying to divide them upon your leaving. Will have to get the lawyers involved, honestly… such a hassle.” Tomlinson’s ego received quite a boost when Styles’ joke turned out to be even more atrocious than his own. He still laughed though, perhaps more than it would be applicable in the situation, but he hoped that the stranger appreciated his approval, even if it was fake. 

“Of course, each piece has its own nametag. They also respond to their names, there should be no problems.” 

“Thinking of the names must’ve been a nightmare.” The taller one summed up while they moved to the kitchen. Significantly darker than the rest of the rooms Louis saw, due to the black cabinets, covered by white, marble tops. 

“Don’t worry, I’m quite creative.” Louis smirked as he stood next to the owner, who was now looking at his kitchen as if he was seeing the space for the first time.

“This I’ve heard about you already.” The singer hung his head, eyes plastered to the wood grain he was following with his gaze to avoid Louis’ eyes. Something in the way he sounded, gave the guest a clear idea that the man was done exchanging atrocious jokes with him. Well, maybe it was for the better, the jokes were horrible, just horrible. “Of course, you’re free to use the kitchen whenever you like.” Harry still did not lift his head, his back hunched a little when he turned and led the shorter man through a doorway, both of them standing in the corridor; Louis could see the entry hall through another doorway. “This is the downstairs bathroom.” The owner pointed at one of the doors, he did not bother with opening them. Tomlinson noted that information in the useful category since he knew he’d visit the place quite soon. “This is a closet, Laura keeps her things in there. Chemicals and such, I’d advise you not to mess with her stuff, she gets quite annoyed when she notices something has been moved. And she will notice, believe me when I say that.” 

“She’s that particular, huh?” Louis scratched an itch on his shoulder while he nodded at the door of the closet. He had no intention of ever wandering there. He was not interested in any of the cleaning, believe it or not.

“Ever since I’ve ruined a carpet with one of her detergents. I don’t think I’ve been scolded more in my life.” Styles made himself laugh with the memory Louis did not have. He started walking towards the hallway, completely brushing over the two other doors to their left, perhaps he found them insignificant. On the other hand, he just told him about the utility closet, what’s less significant than that? “I was afraid I’d have to cancel a tour, felt like I was going to get grounded.” The man’s dark hair bounced around his head, some more curled than the other, messy in the most flattering way. 

“Sounds like living with your mother… No wonder she tucked me in with that blanket.” The writer scoffed, he followed Styles as they started climbing up the stairs; their fingers trailing the smooth balustrade. 

“She wha… ah, of course.” Harry shook his head once more, this time it seemed to be his way of ridding the hair off his face. He politely ignored how out of breath Louis was after climbing the stairs; his own chest as sound as before they even started walking. “It’s mostly bedrooms here.” The man explained, pointing his hands at numerous doors in the corridor. “There…” He pointed in one, specific spot. The furthest away from the stairs. “That one is mine.” 

Louis only nodded, there was really nothing to go off of what the man just said. Sure, this is your bedroom, got it. 

“This one is off-limits.” The taller man added as they were both still standing at the top of the stairs. The hallway looked… like a hallway. Pretty similar to the one downstairs, the only difference in the decoration and the fact that the ceiling was lower than on the ground floor. “I’m usually heading to bed around midnight, I hope it’s not rude to say that I’d rather not be disturbed while I’m there.” Harry looked uncomfortable while setting up the boundaries. Louis could now understand why, when not bothering him in his bedroom seemed to be the most reasonable rule, he was even surprised that the man even felt like he had to say that. It was common courtesy, wasn’t it? “Emergencies only.” He finished with that particular point, his voice calm but firm. It could’ve been Lou’s imagination, but it seemed as if the rasp soothed, the more the man talked. Perhaps he needed to get his vocal cords warmed up.

“Emergencies as in…” Tomlinson stopped, rubbing his stubbly chin in faux contemplation. He felt his companion’s eyes on him even though he looked somewhere in the distance as he workshopped the joke in his head. “If I have a nightmare, or we’re out of butter.” 

He succeeded, bringing back the looser atmosphere as the man opposite of him laughed. His eyes rolling, the expression indicating that he did find the jokes just as lame as Louis did. He still laughed though, that was a point for Tomlinson. Who cared if the man only wanted to be polite? “Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve meant. I’m glad we understand each other so well.” Harry transferred his gaze on the door behind his new roommate, the one closest to the staircase, the furthest from his own bedroom and placed his hand on the brass handle, pushing the door open to reveal another bedroom. “This is where you’ll be sleeping… but you’re free to use the couch if you prefer.” Louis couldn’t have seen the smirk on Styles’ lips as he stepped inside the guest bedroom which, to be completely honest, looked like a hotel room; the one you’d pay like half of your salary to spend a night in. Not too shabby, not at all. “There’s a key and a remote for the TV in one of the nightstands. A closet and en suite behind that door, I did not know whether you prefer a shower or a bath, so… this is one of the two that has both.” 

“Oh, I feel honoured!” Louis joked. “I’m so pissed Azoff made me arrive early, what an ass, forcing me to spend four weeks in this hell hole when I could’ve been woken up by my neighbours yapping dog every day till the tour starts.” He went on the satirical rant as he scanned the room with his eyes.

He was pretty sure that the bed alone was bigger than the entire kitchen space he had in his most recent residence. It looked heavenly, even more than the couch downstairs. The sheets were elegant, cream colour; the pillows fluffed up to the code, for Louis to mess up when he inevitably throws himself on the mattress as soon as he’s left alone. 

To either side of the bed, there were two nightstands, matching the wood of the frame in the way that made the man think that they were made from the same tree. On top of each, a decorative lamp; a brass flamingo the base of both, a simple, dark shade not stealing the attention from the birds. There was not that much more to the space. The floor was walnut, covered by a rug that was even softer than the one in the living room, perhaps from not being used as much. The walls were dark, just as the curtains that were opened, revealing even more of the garden Louis still couldn’t wait to get to. The teal of the pool water was practically begging for him to take a dip. 

“I know you’ve read through the NDA’s, well… I hope you did because I didn’t, so… I’d like to set some rules. I… um, I know how this sounds, I do, really but…” The expression on Harry’s face grew frustrated as he struggled to find the words he was searching for. He looked like he was rehearsing before he interrupted Lou’s evaluation of his room, but then, something went wrong and he lost the plot. The man was back to twisting his fingers.

“Rules, of course. I love the rules!” Tomlinson exclaimed, overly excited, sat at the foot of the bed and bounced a bit on the mattress for which he’d sell his soul to the devil. Although he might have done that already. He observed as his host drags his feet towards an armchair that stood beside the bookcase and took a seat. “Why won’t you remind me of the most important ones? Honestly, loved them so much I kind of want to hear them once again.” Louis kept chirping, he was both trying to relax the flustered lad opposite of him and PERHAPS, get reminded of the rules, to which he did not pay enough attention even though he probably should’ve.

Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his temples as if Louis’ presence was irritating; migraine-inducing even. Maybe it was, perhaps the writer’s attempts at loosening the atmosphere only further infuriated his roommate which was not… ideal at all. Okay, he decided to cut the crap and return to being professional, at least to the best of his abilities. 

Yes! He was a humorous lad, he liked his puns and embarrassing jokes, he liked to make little scenes and just, in general, provide banter, perhaps pull a laugh or two. It was in his nature, in his blood. He remembered being just the same in preschool and he sure was not going to change now, only because mister big-shot was not appreciating his sense of humour. He could try to tone it down and remain somewhat serious, but he was not going to make any promises, he didn’t trust himself enough to vow that a joke wouldn’t slip here and there. It was stronger than him!

Harry did not say anything for quite a while. Louis was kicking his legs that hung from the tall bed after he stopped bouncing, his first step on the way to his professional composure. The kicking did not help though, but that was the matter the man decided to work on later. 

He caught himself staring at Styles, who seemed to be rehearsing the words in his head yet again before he finally lifted his head and looked Louis, who threw a polite smirk his way. “I...” The man found himself stumbling on the first word that was barely one either way. “I know it’s a lot and everything, but you have to put yourself in my shoes, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me either and…” Another pause, that one significantly longer. To the point, where Louis started to doubt whether there was more coming or not.

“I understand, Harry… I do, you don’t have to explain yourself.” The writer wasn’t sure if he was supposed to address the man by his name, they’ve never really even introduced themselves. On Lou’s side, it wasn’t necessary, obviously. He knew so much more than Styles’ name. But the brunette did not seem to mind, he only nodded to himself and got back to pondering his next move.

Louis wasn’t quite sure if the boy knew his name, though. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Harry was stuck in one of those situations he was sometimes a victim of. Everybody had one of those. When you have no idea what’s the name of the person you’re talking to, but the conversation went too far already, so you’re just embarrassed to ask. Or he could’ve just known the name from his manager, that seemed to be more plausible.

The taller man relaxed just a skosh before he got ready to speak with a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” He murmured, more to himself than to Louis. “I don’t know if any of these were in the NDA, I fell asleep when I’ve tried to get through the second page but…” Another contemplation break. “If that’s not too big of a problem, I would appreciate it if you did not invite anybody here.” 

“Of course.” The writer nodded as if he had anyone to invite, he did not know any people in LA. Other than his employer, their bond far from being a friendship, and of course, he knew Harry now, but it was the same case as with Azoff. 

Styles responded with a nod as he pressed his lips for a second, only to part them immediately. “I do not want you taking pictures in my house. I don’t care if you take one of your breakfast to post on Instagram, a selfie or whatever you’re doing on social media. You can take those, I just don’t want you to take pictures of the inside of the house, outside too actually.” He sighed. “No tagging location either. And most importantly, I do not want you taking pictures of me.” Tomlinson nodded, he was wondering why the man was so perturbed before he spoke. For Louis, all he said seemed very reasonable, just boundaries one would set to protect his privacy. Nothing more than that. But then, one point… the one of taking pictures of Harry kind of complicated the whole thing. It was Jeff who told him that he’s encouraged to do exactly that since ‘candid pictures sell the best’. Off to a great start! 

The writer only wondered how many subjects his bosses were disagreeing on, and which one wasn’t the proper boss. There was Harry Styles, an international pop star, sitting just opposite of Louis with his surprising timidity and loaded bank account. In comparison with that guy, Jeff Azoff might as well be nobody, on the bottom of a ladder, just where Louis was located. BUT, _technically…_ it was Jeff who employed Tomlinson, it was he who commissioned the book. This whole ordeal started getting confusing way too early, it was the first day for fuck’s sake!

“You’re free to explore the house further, I know that shitty tour I gave you, most likely left you with explorer’s blue balls so yeah, go ahead. There are not many rooms that are off-limits, other than my bedroom. I will not be taking up more of your time to show you the door so just remember that if the door is locked, you’re not supposed to go in there.” 

“Of course.” Another nod to conclude a reasonable point of Harry’s.

“I will update you if I have more to add.” The man squirmed in his seat before he fully stood up, giving Louis a neutral look. “Anyways, I hope you’ll feel comfortable both here and during the tour. I’m sure we’ll get accustomed to each other as we go. All I’m asking for is respect for my privacy and personal space, and I’m offering the same in return. I will not get in your way, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. I’ll leave you to your own devices, so you can get settled, maybe explore a bit and yeah…” The man stopped, giving the room another look before he stepped out on the corridor, closing the door after himself, which only gave Louis an idea that he did not intend to return.

Seriously, what the fuck just happened? Did he really just saw Tomlinson as the roommate that he had to tolerate for God knows what reason? ‘I will not get in your way.’ Was he serious? Does he understand that Louis had moved in for the sole purpose of getting in his way? He got up from the bed and paced the room just a bit, giving his glorious en suite a look before he returned to the main part of his temporary accommodation and delivered on his promise as he took a bit of a run-up and threw himself on the bed that seemed to devour him like quicksand would. His body fully embraced in the softness of the bedsheets, pressed to his sprawled body. He groaned loudly; the sound muffled by the pillows as he took in luxury, in which he had the privilege of living for the next four weeks.

“I’m sorry, Louis?” He heard his name and quickly got up after embarrassing himself in front of his new acquaintance. “I’ve knocked but you wouldn’t…” He shook his head when he realized there was no point in explaining himself. “Jeff got these delivered yesterday, I believe they’re for you.” The tall man approached the bed and put a white, minimalistic bag with a globally recognizable logo on the mattress, just beside Lou’s crossed legs.

Tomlinson did not bother to look into the bag, he was sure what he’ll find there when he finally does. Harry escaped the bedroom as soon as it was possible. “Thank you!” Louis only exclaimed after him, and he was gone, yet again. 

‘Priorities.’ The man thought the moment he was left alone. He dragged himself off the bed, which did not come easy to him, but he succeeded and headed to the en suite to finally relieve his bladder that seemed to have grown twice the size under pressure his piss put on it. Fuck, he never felt better than the second he was permitted to let go, emptying himself into the fancy toilet that felt so out of his world.

The sky darkened significantly while he socialized with his new roommate, even if socializing might have been too big of a word to describe the encounter. Louis stared out of the window just for a bit before he decided that it was a good time to bring his belongings into the room and perhaps take Harry’s advice and settle himself in. 

He left the door to the bedroom opened as he was unpacking some of his stuff and putting it in the walk-in closet, by the end still almost as empty as to begin with. Fuck, he really needed to get some stuff before they head out on tour. Harry was nowhere to be found, just as he promised he’d be. 

The house was unexplored for the most part, but Louis did not decide to conclude his snooping just yet. It was early in their relationship, he wasn’t keen on coming off as an intruder, definitely not during the first night, even though that was exactly who he was. 

The man hasn’t left the room for the bigger part of the evening. He got himself busy with setting up his new devices (he got a phone too!), which were better than his personal ones, Azoff clearly hasn’t spared expenses on his new project and Louis could not say that he was disappointed in his eagerness to keep the writer content. 

Upon turning on his new iPhone, he found two contacts already logged into the device for him. One of which was Jeff’s private mobile, the second one was Harry’s. Well, he was secretly praying that he was not going to use Azoff’s crisis line anytime soon, although with his subject’s attitude towards the book he even refused to acknowledge, well… the future did not look bright at all. 

It was around ten in the evening, and Tomlinson was still laying on his bed, skipping through TV channels, his programmes interrupted by a violent gurgling of his stomach. Considering that he hadn’t eaten since that burger in the morning, his hunger was more than justified. Still, in order to not get into Harry’s way, he decided not to go downstairs before midnight, when the artist claimed his bedtime to be. 

He was staring at the clock, counting minutes that seemed to drag for eternity as he was fantasizing about a meal. He wasn’t even sure what he could eat, he had not yet snooped around the kitchen to see what he could snatch for himself. It was rude, of course, taking somebody else’s shit without asking but he was hungry and stupid enough to assume that the meals were going to be taken care of. It’s not like he wasn’t going to repurchase the stolen food when he pops into Whole Foods or whichever fancy store Harry was used to stocking his fridge in. 

‘Hungry, hungry, hungry!’ Louis only chanted in his head, eyes stuck to the TV that broadcasted a rerun of a footie game. No, not footie; ‘soccer’, that’s what it was! Whatever the term, it was not nearly interesting enough to keep the writer from dozing off from time to time, jumping back into consciousness only when the commenters started screaming. Three seconds later, he was back to his struggle, being not-so-slowly seduced by the bedding underneath his silhouette.

Honestly, how do people owning these kinds of beds even manage to get out of them? Louis felt imprisoned by the luxurious fell under his fingers; the bedding so soft, the man wouldn’t have doubted if he was told that it was woven with spiderwebs by fairies. The thread count must’ve been out of this world, ten million, at very least! He could get used to this kind of life, undoubtedly. He was curious how he was going to handle being dropped back into his real life, back on his washed-out sheets he got in Asda.

He was still hung somewhere in between the footie game and the imaginary walk around his apartment. It was idiotic, really. He was inside one of the most beautiful mansions in the city, most likely the most spectacular one he’s ever going to have a chance of seeing with his eyes and yet, he was reminiscing about his own place that probably was worth less than Harry’s utility closet itself. 

Maybe he was homesick? He thought that might happen, he was quite domesticated one, really. He did not see that coming nearly as soon as it happened. The premature longing filled him with worry about how he was going to handle things as time progresses. Perhaps it was going to get better once he’s busy with work and such; he sure hoped that it would happen.

What was there to miss? The rain? The confinement of his flat? The greyness of the city or the boredom that filled his life to the brim since it’s not that he was exactly the embodiment of charisma? He was nearly as lonely in London as he was in LA, he should’ve been glad about the change of scenery yet, he could not bring himself to find the silver lining of his situation. Oh well, travelling was an inseparable factor of the job he took upon himself, he could last to the end of the tour. Especially that the gratification was going to be more than enough the time he was to spend away from home.

It was only when the game had finished when Louis finally struggled himself off the bed that did not give up the fight easily. But he won, and there was still almost thirty minutes to midnight. The man decided to use the spare time efficiently and moved to the bathroom where he looked at himself in a mirror for a quick second, his eyes sleepy, lined with dark as an effect of his crazy sleep schedule. 

Looking at his reflection did not do great things to his self-esteem, he was never the type to be the most attractive man in any room, it was just simply not him. He wasn’t ugly either, he was capable of looking presentable when he was willing to put some work into doing his hair or picking an outfit, but usually, he just couldn’t be bothered. He had his humour to make up for what he lacked in the aesthetic department, only when he felt like it was worth it to use the charm. Unfortunately, Harry Styles seemed to be immune to Lou’s wit, and that was a huge, red flag that did not bode well for their sprouting, professional relationship. 

Eh, that was a problem for future Louis to handle. The current one was too concerned thinking whether he should make use of that deep bath that could fit two or three people his size, or check out the water pressure in the shower which looked like it was a part of a spaceship. In the end, he decided that decrypting various buttons and knobs wasn’t something that he had the brain capacity to do, so he started filling the bath with steaming, hot water. 

It was one of those feelings that could not have been replicated by anything other. He was yet again, suspended somewhere between a dream and the reality as he soaked in hot water; the steam not making the whole process uncomfortable since the whole house was perfectly air-conditioned. So, Louis was relaxing. He shuffled a playlist from his phone since he did not trust himself enough to use the sound system stretched throughout the whole house. He added to his to-do-list working out the technological gimmicks placed around the premises that were there to make the resident’s lives easier, but arguably, made them more complicated. Seriously, was it really so hard to use your fucking hand to close the blinds or turn off the lights? Not every appliance needed to be hooked to an iPad!

The water started going lukewarm when the man finally decided to end his bath. He stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his silhouette, one of a few he found on the edge of the bathtub, folded neatly, ready for him to use. At this point, he should’ve been ready for the softness of the fabric, yet he still wasn’t. A silent gasp escaping his lips at the touch, making the man think that he probably should start controlling his reactions before he makes an idiot out of himself at the touch of a bog roll or something just as mundane. Fortunately enough, nobody had a chance to witness his idiotic behaviour just yet. With four weeks of living together still ahead of them, Louis was certain that he was bound to make a fool out of himself in front of an international superstar sooner or later.

Speaking of… the mister big-shot should’ve been in bed by now. Although, Tomlinson had no idea how specific he is in following his routine. Is there some wiggle room time-wise? It was already quarter after midnight when the man roamed around his room, naked even despite the floor-to-ceiling windows being fully bare. He headed towards his luggage, and only when he reached it, he remembered that he already unpacked his clothes. With a deep sigh, he turned on the heel of his foot and walked into the pathetically empty closet; from there, he retrieved a pair of boxers and a T-shirt that was not good enough to go out in, but still not in the state that would justify getting rid of it. Louis was convincing himself that it was his way of fighting fast-fashion and protecting the planet, even though deep down, he knew damn well it was only his laziness and the stupid attachment he sometimes developed in regards to clothing.

After a quick scan of the garden, the writer finally decided that he was going to drop dead if he won’t eat in the next ten minutes. Hesitantly, he stepped out of his room to a corridor that was dimly lit by simple, brass sconces that lined all the passageways in the house, at least the ones Louis had a chance of seeing. He did not know whether it was a common occurrence that some of the lights stayed on during the night, a courtesy towards Louis who was not yet used to the foreign house or an indication that Harry was not yet asleep. 

Either way, he still ran down the stairs, his bare feet clinging to the flooring with every step he took. He reminisced the layout of the downstairs and immediately took the shorter route to the kitchen. The corridors there were lit as well, it was the same for the room he was heading to. 

“We’ve barely met, and you’re already lying?” Louis shook his head with a smirk on his lips. He stood for a bit in the doorway before he finally spoke, his voice startling the taller man as he was working on something by the counter, his back turned to the writer. “I’m in bed by midnight, my ass.” He scoffed, and only when he approached the man, he grew aware of his inappropriate attire. Kindly enough, the outrageous state of the t-shirts and lack of trousers were not commented on by Harry.

The brunette did not answer for quite a while, he only continued slicing a tomato which he later placed on four sandwiches. “Please, don’t tell my mum.” He forced a begging note somewhere between the rasp of his voice. “I thought you’d never come down.” He shook his head, his lips bent towards the ceiling, hidden for the most part by his hair.

Louis observed careful movements of his companion’s slender fingers when he finished making the sandwiches. He retrieved two mugs from the cupboard above his head and filled them with steaming tea he brewed in a pitcher. There was something so pretentious about the way the mugs were matching, and loose leaves of tea were dancing in the water until they were left behind as the liquid was poured into two cups over a meshed spout. “See, I thought about that, but you’d find my body in the morning if I didn’t. I have approximately thirty-seven minutes before I starve to death.” The shorter man joked; hands crossed on his chest as he still watched his subject’s every move. 

Harry pushed the air out of his nostrils, the action so abrupt it made the writer think that it was a reaction to his joke. He got confused again, for whichever time that day. Honestly, who even is this guy? One time he acts like Lou’s jokes are making him sick to his stomach, the other he laughs at the ones that could easily land in the bottom of the ladder when sorted by amusement factor. Maybe he was just polite, Tomlinson remembered reading something like that on the internet… or he had a shitty sense of humour. Perhaps both, who knows?

There was not a lot of time for pondering before the man retrieved plates and divided the sandwiches, he made in two. “Good. Figured you’d be hungry.” Brunette took a few leaps and opened the refrigerator, frosty light illuminating his focused face. “You take milk in your tea?”

“Yeah, I do.” Louis only simply nodded.

“Whole?” 

“Huh?” The shorter man got confused as his thoughts wandered somewhere else while he was scanning the kitchen.

Another smirk snuck onto Styles’ lips only to be quickly shut down before he paraphrased his question. “Is whole milk fine? I have almond if you prefer.” The man took two cartons in one hand, closed the fridge and came back to his previous spot, without giving Louis the chance to answer.

“Whole is perfect.” The writer retrieved one of the cartons from his companion’s hand; the one with a plump, smiling cow graphic that pretty explicitly stated its origin. He uncapped the carton and put just a dash into one of the mugs while Harry did the same only with fake milk he opted for. After that, both put their desired amounts of sugar into the beverage, spun their spoons just for a bit so the crystals could dissolve properly. “Guess it’s my turn to sort tomorrow’s dinner then?” He joked as they occupied their hands with the plates and cups of steaming tea.

The host put his beverage down and reached to one of the drawers, from where he retrieved a handful of those mini, individually wrapped peanut butter cups and split the sweets in half, three pieces landed to the side of Lou’s sandwiches when the singer approached him. “I’m not going to make it to dinner tomorrow.” The man explained. Something tired manifested in his voice.

Louis blinked three times before he came back alive, he was wondering whether he should go eat upstairs, on the couch or just join Harry, who sat down on one of the barstools, tucked underneath the sizable kitchen island. “Of course, I sometimes forget that some people have lives and all.” He laughed at his own joke that did not get the same reaction from Styles who sat, his back slightly hunched as he stared at his plate. “Well, next time it’s my turn.” 

Harry took a sip of his tea, moistening his lips before he finally spoke. “Would you care to eat with me?” His proposition seemed like an opportunity of a lifetime for the author, who simply did not know how he was supposed to act just before the question was asked. Without a word, he put his dinner on the counter and took out one of the barstools, leaving an empty seat between him and the boss. “What did you mean with forgetting that some people have lives? Don’t you have one?” The man asked after he finished his first sandwich; Louis was somewhere in the middle of the first one since his bites were not nearly as huge as Styles’.

The shorter man was taken aback by the question. He did not expect something like that, he hasn’t expected to hear his companion speak at all. He thought he’d be lucky if he was graced with small talk, considering how quiet the man was before, he surely did not see… that coming. “Not a whole lot of it, no… Especially not here.” The guest answered truthfully, not even sure why was he saying that to a stranger. Perhaps subconsciously, he knew that he’d have to open up and do some groundwork before Harry does the same. “Thought it was obvious that my social skills are kind of rusty.” 

“I’m not one to judge.” The taller one scoffed after he chased a bite with a gulp of tea. “How long have you been here?”

“It’s my third week.” He confessed while he unwrapped one piece of candy to devour it in between his sandwiches. 

“Do you like LA?” The boss asked, unwrapping all three pieces of candy before he ate them in quick succession, therefore, concluding his dinner.

“No, not really.” Another honest answer adding to the foundation. The companion did not say anything, he hummed briefly and kept sipping his tea. “I’m capable of taking care of myself, you know? I may not look like it, but I know how to fix myself something to eat or even bring my own soap.” He laughed as he remembered how expertly prepared his room was; as if the host expected him to come with literally nothing. “Although I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed the soap, I doubt my skin has ever been quite this soft.” 

“Wanted you to be comfortable, that’s all.” The broad shoulders, hidden under the material of the same black hoodie Louis saw the man wearing before, shook in a shrug as he started gathering his dirty dishes. He froze for just a second and Tomlinson saw how his eyes hung on his forearm, the one the closest to his new roommate. It looked as if the man wanted to judge for himself how exactly soft the skin was but thinking that it was actually the case was kind of delusional. Here, he just got stuck for a second, it’s not like it was the first time he was caught doing that. “I’m gonna head to bed, I have an early morning tomorrow.” He announced before he left his seat and put his dishes into the dishwasher.

“Of course, thank you for this.” Tomlinson smiled when he looked at the plate, which he was almost finished emptying. 

“No worries, please don’t feel like you have to stay upstairs the whole time. The house is big enough for both of us.” The taller man went back to looking uncomfortable when they got back on the topic of roommate rulebook and such. “Goodnight, Louis.” The man nodded and disappeared before Louis got the chance to answer. He still did, though. He raised his voice and sent the man off with a simple ‘goodnight’. He knew that Harry heard him, he couldn’t have been too far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading early because I have no self-control and the first one was cut off in the weird place.  
>  Thank you for reading! If you need something, just hmu on Twitter @gerardisonfire  
>  See you in a few, keep tight :)


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm done for today, you need anything?" Tomlinson got a bit startled when he sat on the couch, his bottom half covered by a blanket as he ate one of a dozen frozen pizzas, he stocked up on the day prior at Trader Joe's. It was Laura. Of course, it was her. It was barely the third time he met the woman, but he appreciated her presence very much so, especially that he did not get a lot of company otherwise. "How are you two getting along?" She approached the couch and sat at one of the ends, the one closer to Louis, who sat in the corner, as always.

The man thought a bit whether he should tell the truth or not. He wasn't sure why lying even popped into his brain, but either way, he decided not to, especially if he wanted to make the woman trust him. "Not great, to be honest." He sighed after a piece of bready dough slipped down his throat with just a bit of a struggle that gave Lou an idea that perhaps, he should take a sip of his beer; that's exactly what he did. "I've seen him maybe five times since I've arrived here. He's never here."

"Oh, he isn't?" A deep wrinkle appeared in between the woman's eyebrows as she drew them together. She looked kind of surprised with the revelation, and Louis caught it, he started wondering if that's something out of the ordinary, something caused by him. "I'm sure you'll find common ground, okay… think it's time for me." The lady stood up, threw a kind smile Louis' way and walked out of the living room. Scraping of the soles of her shoes on the marble floor of the hallway audible over the murmur of the TV before the door closed behind her, leaving Louis alone in the huge mansion with nothing to do.

The writer liked his current way of living, he did. He wasn’t really working, the most he did was note some insignificant little facts, which he found out while snooping around the house but it was far from working. With how incompatible Harry’s schedule was with Louis’, they barely saw each other. Although, talking about Tomlinson’s life as if it was on any kind of plan was extremely comical. He woke up after noon, Styles long gone by then. He took care of his basic needs and either occupied himself with exploring the house or just settled down on either of the couches, the one in the living room when he felt like watching TV, the one in the basement if he was keener on playing video games; yeah, Harry’s game room was one of his favourite spots, at least those he could see. There were three, maybe four doors that were locked, prohibited for him to explore.

It was just as if he was living on his own. Only his gloomy, mundane apartment was switched for a sunny, multi-million mansion with every amenity he could’ve ever think of, hell… more than he could come up with. With how things went, he didn’t even need to leave the house at all. He did, but he didn’t _have to_. The fridge was stocked with food for both him and Harry, somebody on the singer’s team always taking care of that issue. A paradise, yeah… but a lonely one. That’s for sure.

In order to escape the solitude, even if just for a bit, especially on days when Laura wasn't working, Louis occupied himself with the dumbest things. He went to the cinema, to McDonald's, anything that got him out of the house. Of course, it's not like he was socialising with somebody in particular, but even _seeing_ people was quite refreshing.

It was Louis' fifth day in the mansion, he arrived on Monday, now it was Friday. His activity for the day was decided when he found on the internet, one of those stores that import snacks from around the world. He ended up hopping into the Prius just after breakfast, two hours later, he was back with two bags, full of processed food that was his cure for homesickness. It worked, to a certain extent. When it stopped, he decided to leave again and just drove around for a bit before he came back. Just to look around the neighbourhood which he was completely unaccustomed to. He was on a lookout for a hiking spot of some sort, but he came up with nothing by the end of his drive.

Those pointless escapades became very much less of a hassle on Tuesday, when Louis woke up to a note left for him on the kitchen counter, just next to the fridge. The piece of paper had some breakfast suggestions since the owner forgot that Louis was arriving on the twenty-third, therefore he neglected to notify the assistant that his fridge was almost empty. It was not too big of a deal. Louis was excited about a bowl of cereal up until Harry's definition of cereal turned out to be so different from his own. Still, with no better option, the writer took a risk, which resulted in a bowl of some oat flakes that might as well have been sawdust. Horrible, really. The experience prompted the first of Lou's contributions to their now, shared kitchen, just a few colourful boxes with sugar disguised as a healthy breakfast.

Along with the neatly written note, there was a key card, both to the main door of the house and the gate and Louis had become a full-fledged resident of a gated community. Without the rent part, of course. Quite a life he's got for himself. 

But now, there was nothing left for him to do. His eyes became tired from the flashing lights he was staring the entire day into, the huge flatscreen taking a toll on his vision, which was nobody else’s fault but his. It’s not like he lacked things to occupy himself with other than the flatscreens he gravitated towards. The sun had set already, it was dark in the living room, apart from the light cast by the TV. Both his pizza and beer were already gone, leaving him with spare time to fill.

He was done with the TV for the day, that he knew; screens, in general. Ten more minutes and he'd have a migraine for which, to be honest, he worked hard for. The man went over the options in his head, and after he completely rejected popping into either the game room and the gym downstairs, he was left with only ground floor, and the garden since the upstairs consisted only of bedrooms, at least as far as he was aware. Three out of four rooms he was locked out of were upstairs.

Technically, he knew he could’ve just headed to the bedroom; perhaps try to fall asleep but let’s be real, he woke up half-past twelve and barely even moved after that. He surely wasn’t near ready to go to sleep. If he tried, it would only result in him getting irritated and more TV to pass the time until he gets tired. 

With the dishes already on the rack in the washer, Louis slid open the door to the garden and stepped out, his bare feet perfectly conducting the heat from the tiles to his body. It was still hot and dry. Louis developed a tendency of forgetting the weather conditions outside since he barely left the comfortable temperature of twenty-two degrees or whatever the fuck was the equivalent in Fahrenheit.

It was kind of late, yet not late enough to expect Harry's abrupt return. Especially that he informed his roommate that he was going to be out late, which wasn't surprising at all. It was Friday after all, and he was young, with endless possibilities of socialising with people he actually enjoyed spending time with. Not some bland bloke, whom he was forced to hang out with for the sake of his career.

After considering the rest of his options of spending the Friday evening, not that many at all, he settled on something, he meant to do ever since he arrived at the house but never found a suitable time. Without wasting any more time, he approached the hot tub, fiddled with a panel just a bit, and when he somewhat figured it out, the water started heating up.

See, the most obvious thing to do while in a hot tub, would be scrolling through the news, perhaps some Harry Styles publicity because as much as Louis promised himself to get started on the book, he kind of abandoned even keeping up with the media from the moment he moved in, and it's not like the man himself told him anything, so yeah… considering the amount of promo work the artist claimed to be doing, he'll have quite a chunk to catch up on when he finally decides to get to work.

Not today, though! Louis' phone was left to charge on his nightstand when the man ran upstairs to change into his swim trunks. The no-screen rule kind of forced him to pick some random book from one of the tall cases in the living room and with the lecture in his hand, a beer in the other, he stepped into the water that heated to a magnificent temperature while he was getting ready for his soak.

The book turned to be utter shite and yeah, Louis judged it after reading two and a half pages, SO WHAT? The disgrace of the literary industry was thrown on the tiles, far enough not to be splashed when he finally decided to check the full potential of the jets as he leaned his head on the designated spot and fully submerged himself into the heavenly feeling.

The sensation of the bubbles, following the curve of his body until they popped at the surface, created perfect thinking conditions, although it might as well have been his boredom. Of course, he was so fucking comfortable, soaking in the tub for an hour, at the very least before he caught himself wondering. He did not even know how much time his mind spent separated from his body as it roamed around all over the world. Well… the all around the world might have been an exaggeration, LA and London could hardly be described as the world. Some people probably wouldn’t be as opposed to doing that, Louis, on the other hand, knew enough about geography (not that he knew _a lot_ about it), to know that it’s FAR from the truth.

His first instinct was thinking about his mother. He missed her very dearly ever since he visited her on his last weekend in the UK. He never properly appreciated the woman before he moved out to a whole another city, especially one that far away from where she lived. He knew that it was his biggest mistake, he was not proud of it, but his past was far from unperturbed; or maybe he should say that his mother's past with him was far from sound, although there were probably some things both could've done better. Either way, Tomlinson, to this day, couldn't forgive himself for being such an asshole while growing up even though his mum seemed to have put the thing behind them the moment they've reconciled after Louis left Doncaster.

He knew that his mum’s overprotectiveness, the thing that irked him the most, only came from the place of love. At least, now he knew. Before, he was sure that his mother had some personal vendetta against him and just decided to make his life a living hell. Honestly, teenaged Louis’ problems seemed preposterous now that he thought of them. Oh no! Your mummy wants to know when are you going to be home and doesn’t want you to get blackout drunk at sixteen? What a monster, really!

Louis scoffed at the memories he brought up, his childish tantrums, slamming doors so hard that the whole flat vibrated, running away and in general, hellraising for no apparent reason. He saw school counsellor a few times, at the time when his mom couldn’t handle him anymore and yes, the therapist tried to make excuses for him, explaining that his behaviour might have been linked to the lack of a father figure in his life but how is that even a justification?

What Louis now knew he should’ve done then, is help her get through this whole single parenthood, not making things even harder on her. It’s not like it was her fault that his deadbeat excuse of a father vanished as soon as he learned about the pregnancy. She was doing good on her own until the boy grew up and things in his head started complicating. Taking out his frustrations on his mother was the worst he could've done, especially that with two jobs, the woman already had more than enough on her plate, but well, that's exactly what he did back then, and no matter how hard he regretted it, there was no erasing the past.

Thankfully, things between them kind of settled when he moved out to London. It wasn’t instantaneous. Louis remembered not seeing his mother for almost a year at the time, barely even talking on the phone since he just felt like this big mister adult who did not need his mummy. Pathetic, in retrospect. There was not a moment in his life when he didn’t need his mum. Whether it were his toddler tantrums, his teenage ones, an arrogant phase he went through around twenty, just when he published his first book or now, when he was somewhat put-together; his mother always was the most important person in his life, even if he wasn’t always very keen on admitting that.

So, yeah. Somehow, he spent an hour thinking about his mother, a woman sleeping in her flat, over six thousand miles away from her son who was basking in somebody else’s wealth, a whole ocean between them. He decided to call her when he wakes up around noon and fill her in on his life since they haven’t really had a chance of speaking in around a week, just exchanging brief texts to make sure they’re both fine. Creating the mental note of phoning his mum concluded the extensive dive into their past. He was supposed to relax, this was not relaxing.

But then, when was he not relaxing? His whole week consisted of doing exactly that. There was nothing for him to do. Hell, he was not even responsible for doing his own laundry or cleaning the fucking shitter. It was weird, it was unfamiliar. Even if Louis hated chores (let's be real, who liked them?), taking care of the space around him, at least gave him _something_ to do. And now? Everything was spotless, taken care of on without him even noticing. He'd come back from the kitchen and find a tee he put in the hamper a day prior, pristine and folded. The only thing left for him to do was putting it away since Laura was unaware of his preferred way of organising the closet as if there was one, to begin with.

He felt like he gained ten pounds already. Countless hours stuffing his face in front of the TV and physical exercise limited to prowling around the house when he got curious, couldn’t have been beneficial to his already unimpressive physique. Maybe he should stop ending his house exploring sessions on the game room and venture just a little bit deeper into the gym, which kind of scared him with how well equipped it was, most of the stuff foreign to the man who had never even been in a proper, public gym, not to mention a private one.

He'll start with the pool. Yeah, that seemed to be a good place to begin implementing at least some physical activity into his life. The pool was easy, the water was familiar, and for the most part, there was not even a soul to see if his swimming skills are not up to par. Of course, mister superstar's impressive wingspan most likely resulted in the most graceful technique, one that Michael Phelps himself wouldn't have been ashamed of but he wasn't there to judge, was he? Honestly, at the moment, it seemed to be more Louis' house than his; the only thing indicating that it wasn't was the name on the property deed, which surely wasn't Tomlinson's.

The man lowered the power of the jets when he started to get sore from the impact on his skin, the soft bubbling accompanied with a quiet hum of the machinery when he laid in the water, his head thrown back, eyes closed shut. He inhaled sharply, trying to savour the distinct scent he associated with the night, but all he got was chlorine, the potent stench burning his nostrils on its way to his lungs. "You mind if I swim for a bit?" Tomlinson heard from behind himself, and it took him embarrassingly long to put aside the thought that he's going to get murdered and realise that it was, in fact, Harry. A person who had more right to be in that house than Louis did.

The writer shuffled to another seat, the one from which he had a better view of the sliding door, in front of which the taller man stood, a ball of fabric, which was quickly identified as colourful swim trunks in his right hand when he looked at Louis, waiting for permission as if he needed any. “Of course, sure… yeah.” He nodded and regretted his decision in mere seconds it took Styles to take off his t-shirt. Brunette made a good job of hiding his body beneath oversized clothing and for some reason, it never really occurred to Louis that there was more underneath of all that fabric and… _God_ , there was.

The pronounced lines of Harry’s stomach brought back the memories of that one time, in art class when Louis first stumbled upon Michelangelo’s sculpture of David, which may or may not have been a factor in shaping young Lou’s sexual identity. Styles looked like that but somehow, even more… _ripped_. His torso looked like it was chiselled in marble, his muscles flexing with every move and the man was pretty sure that he had a full view of Harry’s internals, even despite the golden skin stretched tightly over the muscles, black ink splatters, ones that Tomlinson couldn’t be bothered decoding, scattered around his entire silhouette.

It was more God’s providence than his own choice that made him look away in just right moment not to be caught staring. He _knew_ that his cheeks were flushed. Hell, he felt his neck getting hot as well and he thanked heavens that it was somewhat dark and the blue light of the jacuzzi most likely balanced his blush just enough for it to go unnoticed. The heat became unbearable even though the temperature hasn’t changed in the slightest since Louis ventured to the garden. If anything, it was colder than before and yet, the man found himself struggling to stay in the tub from the moment he saw what he saw.

Styles was fiddling with a drawstring of his shorts and much to Louis' surprise, he did not look like he was going somewhere to change. He just kicked his shoes aside, toed his socks off and before he could, without hesitation drop the rest of his attire, the writer threw his head back and closed his eyes. It was better like that, even if the lack of the visual did not take away the awareness that at one point, Harry Styles was full-on naked in front of him. What also complicated the whole debacle, was the fact that somewhere along the week (it might have been Wednesday but don't quote him on that), Harry had some TV appearance before which, he finally shaved the atrocious ferret from around his face. This, accompanied by the quite daring outfit he was dressed in when he came back home, pushed Louis to realise that he did, in fact, get the hype.

Harry was hot, okay? And that fact both made Louis' self-consciousness sky-rocket, especially with Styles, now doing fucking one-handed press-ups on the tiles, back equally as toned as the front; he did not even know when he opened his eyes to witness his roommate's warm-up. He could've hung his eyes for a moment longer since the man had no way of knowing that he was stared at but, there was another thing. The day Louis finally acknowledged Styles' physical attractiveness (quite an understatement, really), his life got somewhat difficult, even more than it was before.

He was only a human, a weak one at that. He had eyes, just as well as he had _urges_. Urges on which he refused to act up, even before Wednesday happened and intensified his want. It would've been quite awkward to rub one out with an international superstar sleeping just a few doors away, wouldn't it? But the thing is that it had been five days already. FIVE. Four whole nights when in normal circumstances he would’ve relieved himself at least daily because well, he was a normal guy with a sex drive, he wasn’t really to be blamed for that.

Louis reminded himself of that one lesson he learned just around the time he graduated high school. It was after he spent a whole semester chasing after a guy that had an internship in their school. See, he knew the guy was straight yet, somehow, he convinced himself that he could confuse him a little bit and win him over. Present-day Louis had no idea where the teenaged him took the confidence from, he acted as if he was some modern-day Adonis that could seduce any guy who sets his eyes on him. Spoiler alert: he couldn't. Straights will be straights, and this was the lesson he had learned and will forever be there, deep inside.

Harry was an acquaintance, they were working together or… they were to _hopefully_ work together since there was barely any speaking just yet, let alone working. He was also one of the straights, as far as everybody was aware; his latest relationship with some model (he could not recall which one exactly, he knew like two), ended quite recently and from what media was talking, there was something new on the horizon already. ‘Professional, for God’s sake! Louis, professional!’ The man was repeating in his head as he still watched the boy who moved to stretching his muscles before the swim.

Honestly, how was any of this even fair? Harry had no business being this gorgeous. He was already talented, supposedly smart and outspoken (Louis didn't have a chance to see, or rather hear that for himself), his bank account was loaded, he was loved all over the world, and on top of that, he was just striking. Yet again, Styles proves that God has favourites.

'What about me, God?' Tomlinson chuckled under his nose; his whisper fully covered by the bubbles when he looked up to the navy sky. His only talent was talking shit about people, he was also persistent enough to dig up the dirt he needed to sell his books, and that was pretty much… everything. His social skills were pretty stale, he barely finished high school, and he owed his entire, not very impressive career to luck and the fact he fucked a right guy (just to be clear, he fucked him before he knew that the man had some substantial connections with a publishing company). He could've, at least been blessed with good looks or something but no, apparently it wasn't in his cards.

He wasn't going to complain too much, though. It was only a few minutes earlier when God took pity on him and prevented spontaneous combustion of his whole silhouette at the sight of Harry's body. Honestly, he thought that he was over getting semis at the sight of attractive men, but he was proven wrong. Somehow, he was fifteen again, and he couldn't help but think what he would've done differently if he had a chance to start fresh at that age.

A loud splash pulled the man out of his thoughts before he could even catch Harry’s movement. He turned around, folded his hands on the edge of the tub and rested his chin on them, observing Styles who was on his whichever lap already. Surprisingly enough, the man looked kind of goofy, instead of all agile and elegant. Well, he still looked better than Louis ever could, especially while swimming BUT, he kind of looked as if his limbs were longer than he could manage them being. Still, he was fast before he wasn’t anymore. He stopped just before the hot tub, his brows furrowed when he pulled his head out of the water and saw Louis staring at him. He brushed wet hair out of his face with his fingers and observed Tomlinson just for a second as if he was uncomfortable with being stared at, which he probably was. Louis knew that he would’ve been too if the roles were reversed. “Would you mind if I put some music on?” He asked finally, his voice this weird mixture of soft, yet raspy.

Louis smirked at the way how his companion tried to keep the pool water out of his mouth, his way of blowing air out of his mouth to rid of the droplets hanging off his nose ended up in some of that water reaching the writer, but he did not say anything. Well, he did but not regarding the water. “No, go ahead.” Harry laid on his back and let himself float with his eyes closed, temporarily postponing the process of putting the music on. “Maybe you could give me a tutorial because I’ve _tried_ , I really did, but this whole thing is like black magic to me, _almost_ as complicated as the shower." He emphasised the almost part because he was yet to find a thing more confusing than the shower. "You know, you think to yourself… okay, I can't be bothered taking a bath and next thing you know, you're bent in half because you've just shot yourself in the knob with a fucking jet." The man's beer-induced garrulity took the wheel as he shook his head at the memory that now was funny, it wasn't on Tuesday when the incident took place.

He had a great view from where he was kneeling on the seat of the tub. Harry was stretched on the surface of the water, partially submerged. His eyes were closed, arms folded under his head, holding it afloat. His lips curved upwards, perhaps the most Louis had ever seen them curl as he listened to the story that was so silly, it made him snort. It was really the dumbest shit that got this man going, huh? For some reason (wonder what reason that might have been), Louis had a hard time focusing on evaluating the quality of Styles’ sense of humour. As long as he could make him laugh, even if only from time to time, he was cool.

His eyes took in the sight, almost close enough to touch. He indulged in the ink under Harry's skin and the most random shapes it formed. He feasted on the way his skin glistened in the dim light, Louis could've named each and every muscle, pronounced beneath the tanned sheet of softness, covered by delicate peach fuzz that took on darker colour in some places, if he ever cared enough in Biology class to learn the terms. His eyes darted to the little trail of dark, coarse hair that disappeared under the waistband of the orange trunks and only when felt himself starting to fill up his own pants, he sat back on his bum, leaving the man to his devices. "Can't say that I haven't fallen victim to the jets myself." Harry broke the silence and Louis would've thanked him for pulling his thoughts from where they've wandered if it wouldn't prompt uncomfortable questions. "It's embarrassing, but it happened more than once." The singer admitted, and if that was a thing, Louis could, in fact, _hear_ the smirk on the lips he couldn’t see anymore.

He heard Harry start swimming again, the sound of his body emerging from the water following. Louis dared and took a glance at the man who now retrieved a towel from one of those garden chests disguised as a seat and started patting himself dry. He unglued his hungry eyes from the shapely silhouette and pretended that there was something incredibly interesting in expertly trimmed hedges (courtesy of Julian, the gardener whom Louis had met the day prior), which provided privacy to premises.

When Louis turned his head once more, Styles was not there anymore. What was there, were wet stains on the tiles, ones that lead into the house. 'Well, here goes my tutorial.' He thought and got back to relaxing in the tub, which he perhaps should've left by now, his skin was full-on raisin by now. 'Five more minutes.' He mumbled under his breath. Without Harry in the garden, the whole winding down after the whole day of doing nothing came easier to him.

His face deformed in a wide yawn when he still sat in the tub, even though the five minutes might have been gone already. He couldn't help but wonder whether jacuzzi was a good nap spot; he found quite a number of those throughout the house already, but in that case, there was no such thing as surplus, right? He had more than enough time to test all out and compare. It's settled. By the time he leaves, he was determined to have a full-on chart of all possible nap spots, sorted from the best, to worst. A gift he’s going to bestow Harry before he goes back and kills himself because, with as lousy as his work is going right now, he’s going to have a million-dollar lawsuit on his hands for not delivering on his part of the deal with Jeff.

He enjoyed the quiet bubbling of the water and the cool (for LA conditions, of course) breeze brushing over his face just before his heart nearly stopped when Harry slipped onto the second seat to Lou's right. "You need to stop doing that." He scolded the artist with his hand clutched just above his heart. He had enough of that. To be fair, he doubted that Styles did that on purpose. That, as in maundering around his house like a ghost, without making noise even as minor as slight panting after climbing the stairs (Oh, no… Harry could never! He'd climb the Empire State Building and his breath would remain as sound as ever). Louis was the complete opposite. The moment he started living alone, he became significantly noisier. Humming, stomping his feet too hard, snapping his fingers; all repertoire of unnecessary noises, whatever rids of silence.

Harry was not like that, though. Maybe it was not that surprising, considering that according to Louis' calculations (he's far from a mathematician though), Styles weighed around five pounds; six, after a big meal. Either way, his ability to move around the house, unnoticed had taken a tremendous toll on Louis' cardiac health. He was at his tenth near-death experience when he was startled, yet again.

The singer looked at his new companion, his eyebrows furrowed with worry for a second before he realised that Louis was joking, as always. "Sorry, hope this will make it up to you?" He handed the smaller man one of elegant, crystal glasses, filled with a generous amount of something that Louis could only assume was whiskey. "I didn't know what your drink was and I went with the safe bet..." He added while staring into his own glass, an overly pretentious, oversized ice cube clinking against the crystal walls.

“Anything.” Tomlinson scoffed, bringing Harry’s attention back to himself, dark brows furrowed again, this time in confusion. He gave himself a silent, metaphorical pat on the back when he ended up reading Harry’s face this easily. “I’ll drink anything if I’m desperate enough.” The wrinkle on Styles’ face smoothed when he put the glass into his left hand and unlocked his phone with the right.

He scooted towards Louis, and the older guy had a hard time remembering if they've ever been closer. Probably not, which was not ideal after he went on a literal silent rant about that body, which was now pressed to his side. "And how desperate are you right now?" Brunette smirked when he sipped his drink, still tapping decidedly, eyes plastered to his device.

The abrupt stop to his breathing, courtesy of Jesus Christ himself, was another thing he felt like he should thank for. If that hadn’t happened, he was pretty sure that he would whine, therefore answering the question of how desperate he actually was: very fucking desperate. But he collected himself, his breath somehow stayed steady. He took a sip of the beverage which he correctly identified as whiskey (it’s not like it was too hard but still), and that one sip was enough to convince the man that the bottle of the stuff he was drinking probably costs more than rent on his mum’s apartment. Yes, mum! Looping his mind around his parent was a viable way of keeping his mind at bay. “Not very desperate at all… and you had me thinking that Jack Daniels was the top of the craft.” He shook his head, the drink swirling in the glass with the movement of his wrist.

The singer finally brought his phone closer to Louis, showing him the display and beginning the tutorial. Quickly taking his roommate along the journey that took exactly, three clicks. To be fair, Louis’ problems sourced from him not being even hooked to wi-fi, so Harry texted him the password and apologised that he hadn't thought about doing it earlier. Always so thoughtful. "Next, the shower. Wouldn't want you to follow my lead and hurt yourself more than it's necessary." The man sat back where he did before, leaving one empty seat in between them. He reached to the control panel and increased the bubbles ever so slightly.

“See, I’d say that having your jewels shuffled by a water jet is not something that is ever necessary, not even once.” A shiver travelled along Lou’s spine at the memory. “But I guess that’s where you and I are different.” He shrugged and bit his cheek not to seem too proud about making the boss laugh. “Maybe it’s better for you not to show me those things, now that I think of it.”

“Why?” Another confused look, correctly identified by the writer.

"Don't get me wrong, this…" He swirled his glass once more. "and this…" He gestured all around the garden. "It's all very lovely, but I'm seeing myself having a hard time going back to my normal, boring shower with no water pressure whatsoever and ten quid whiskey already and I've been here five days." He pushed the air out of his nostrils, somewhat amused as to how easily he got accustomed to living on somebody else's bill. Perhaps he was predestined to be a sugar baby? Well, it was a lost opportunity if it was ever one. He was not exactly a sugar baby type.

“Live a little.” Styles raised his glass and waited for a second before Louis did the same, the vessels clinking together, sips following the little, informal toast. “You’re going to regret it later if you don’t.” Harry’s shoulders shrugged.

"Probably, yeah… you're right." Tomlinson leaned his head back and swayed it just for a bit to the rhythm of a song he remembered from somewhere but did not know where. It was something Harry did, he listened to the weirdest music. There was not a lot of chances for Louis to eavesdrop on his playlists, but when he did, this was just the case with most of them. Songs that everybody knew from _somewhere_ , but the brain went blank if you were to search for the title or the artist. Mostly old stuff, from the time before either of them was born… hell, from before either of their mothers were born in some cases.

The taller man inhaled sharply and finished his drink, Louis still wasn't looking, but the distinct clink of the ice cube indicated that he was finished. They've been soaking together for something around fifteen minutes, three songs anyway. Their conversation was lazy, but Tomlinson did not remember when did it ever flow so effortlessly, which only made him think that the answer was never _._ "And if everything goes up to your and Jeff's plan… you're going to make quite a buck, won't you?" Harry tried to force a smirk on his lips, but he failed, he nipped at his lip, eyes stuck to an insignificant spot on the building's exterior.

It kind of sounded like a probe, as if Harry wanted to know the numbers on Louis' contract; but it couldn't have been. Yeah, the deal was between Jeff and Louis, but the manager surely shared the details with his client, hasn't he? Either way, Louis decided not to unveil the possible secret and only nodded before he spoke. "If it goes that way… yeah." He thought about the money again. It was almost close enough to grab but still not there yet, and Harry did not make things easier with his reticent attitude. 'You have your money. Now, would you _please_ let me earn some, Styles?’ He thought, smiling just a bit, the expression went unnoticed.

See, considering Harry’s wealth, the numbers on Lou’s contract were microscopical, borderline comical; but then, when you consider royalties Louis was living off of, the stakes grew higher, real fucking high when you take account on the fact that he had to provide for himself AND pay some of his mother’s bills on top of that since the woman was kind of overwhelmed with the new expenses, carried by her medication. The literary industry was not nearly as rewarding as people thought it was. Especially if you’re not any kind of big-deal, and Tomlinson was not one of those, at all. “What do you mean my and Jeff’s plan? What’s yours, then?” Louis pulled himself out of the session of pitying himself.

Harry shifted in his seat, the uncomfortable look, the one he greeted Louis with on Monday, was back on his face. “Don’t get me wrong…” He started; his eyes still stuck in the same spot. “It’s nothing personal but…” A deep sigh broke the sentence in the middle. “But if I had my way, there would be no book, to begin with.” The man admitted and immediately got up from the seat he was occupying. He left before Louis could even ask the question that popped up in his head.

He hasn't stayed long after that, the silence became unbearable once Styles turned off the music, and Louis was left with his thoughts. He was both glad that they've actually _talked_ but then, dreaded every single of the conversations they had ahead of them ( _if_ they had any), considering that there was a chance, that they all were going to be this straining and conflicting.

Louis remembers to turn the lights off before he went upstairs. He didn't always do that, he forgets things. But now that he knew, that leaving them on wasn’t necessarily Styles’ normal routine, he _tried_ to keep that in mind and fully engulf the house in darkness before he heads to bed. There was a line of light, visible under the owner's door when Lou headed upstairs. It complicated things even further.

Yeah, he might have been thinking about beating off if the circumstances were suitable, after all… he wasn’t going to be properly _alone_ for almost a year, he had to forget his shame and get over it. He was denying himself since Tuesday, and he felt like he was about to explode, thinking that he would last without… he wasn't delusional, okay? 

But with Harry still awake, doing whatever he was doing to wind down before bed, there was no way Louis could ever do that. As he had established before, in the tub; he was not fifteen anymore, he could postpone the action for when he was going to be alone. So, with that thought in mind, he quickly rinsed chlorine off his body (no jets, though) and laid in his bed, groaning into his pillow in irritation that he couldn’t fall asleep. He gave up on his decision of keeping away from screens for the rest of the day as he put the TV on. _Technically_ , he stuck to his resolution. It was half-past midnight; therefore, it was Saturday already. Not that there was a reason why he felt obliged to explain himself but still…

With the quiet murmur of the TV, he fell asleep around two in the morning, after countless minutes of tossing and turning on the bed that somehow grew unbelievably uncomfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

The second Friday Louis spent at Harry's wasn't nearly as eventful as the previous one. He was alone, on the couch. It was something around two in the morning, and he probably should've just gone to bed, but he wasn't tired yet, how was he supposed to be tired after doing pretty much nothing for two weeks straight?

Thankfully, he was in the garden for the first half of the day, taking advantage of Styles’ absence, swimming and doing some of his work in the sun. It was nice, the most productive he’s been in a while, not to mention that this decision made it possible for him to stay on the couch for the rest of the day without the threat of a migraine.

This was one of not so many times when Tomlinson actually knew where his roommate was. Usually, the singer disappeared at the brink of the morning and came back just before heading to bed. The situation hasn’t even changed when he was called out on his bullshit excuses that he was supposedly doing promo work before the tour starts. At first, Louis believed him, there was no reason for him to lie about that. But then, he started googling Harry, in order to catch up on everything he missed throughout his slacking and quite surprisingly, there was not so much out there.

The number of articles published by the press did not match with the multitude of interviews he was claiming to be doing. Three events were publicized in various media outlets. THREE. Only one of those was an actual radio appearance. There was also some publication about a date with a girl Louis couldn't say he knew and a mention of something that happened on Twitter in regards to him, but that wasn't interesting enough for the man to hold the news in his memory.

Bottom line: Harry Styles is a fucking liar. That’s who he is. And there was not even a reason _why_ he would have to lie and make excuses, at least Louis couldn’t recall giving him any. If he was hanging out with his mates or the girlfriend, so what? That was none of Lou’s business. Well… it was, _kind of_ his business but Harry refused to acknowledge that.

They haven't really _fought_ when Louis asked the man why he was lying to him. First thing was that Harry wasn’t a talking type, not at all; didn't matter if he was calm or pissed and he was fucking _pissed_ that time, there was no denying that. But then, why was he the one who got angry when he brought all of this on himself by lying? The guest did not have enough balls to ask this question because well, despite living together and being somewhat used to each other’s presence, he was still pretty intimidated by the guy.

Styles apologized the following morning when they've caught each other in the corridor as Louis was heading to get something to eat, and the brunette was getting back from his hike. In theory, everything was okay between them from that moment, but nothing _felt_ normal _._ For the record, their normal was far from everybody else’s. Even on ordinary days, they’ve barely interacted, some days it even seemed like the younger guy was avoiding his roommate on purpose, which he probably was; Louis wouldn’t put it past the man.

Instead of lying, Harry just stopped saying anything altogether. He just disappeared, most of the times when Louis was still asleep and came back late evening. Tomlinson knew that there was still something in the air; the biggest giveaway that the resentment was still there was the lack of their evening chats.

See, Louis is a night owl (no shit), he enjoys staying up late, mostly on the couch. That’s exactly what Harry got accustomed to seeing the first thing he gets home from whatever the hell he was doing the whole day. It was Saturday when he came back at ten in the evening (quite early for his standards) and just joined Louis in the second corner of the couch. He fixed them a drink and just hung out together, watching the telly, and it was fresh, and it was _progress._ Louis loved to see that Styles initiated the whole encounter, and even if there was not a lot of talking, it was something.

There was no need to say that the day the whole 'fight' happened, the hangout sessions stopped. It could've been Tuesday, but honestly, Louis' life was such a blur that he wasn't going to bet that it was. And they were back to square one, even worse. At least before, they sometimes ate dinner together, in silence for the most part but still. Now, Lou's presence was barely even acknowledged with a polite nod at their first meeting of the day.

Tomlinson hardly finished his rant of frustration about one Harry Styles when the front door flung open, aggravated whispers carried closer to the living room along with the heaviest steps he had ever heard performed by the man that just arrived. Speak of the devil, right? He could not make any words from whatever he was hearing over the TV, he tried, but he came up empty. The phonecall Harry was in the middle of came to an abrupt end when the singer entered the living room and noticed that Louis was still there.

Without saying a word (they were after their usual nod of acknowledgement for the day), he moved to the next room. It did not take him long to come back with two glasses, an ice cube inside each and a bottle of whiskey, which they might have enjoyed throughout their previous hangout sessions. He threw his phone on the coffee table, making Louis internally scream in panic that he was going to break either his phone (of course, he didn't wear a case, how very rich of him) or worse, the table. It didn't seem like he did though, and the writer could go back to observing his companion as he uncapped the bottle and filled the glasses, before handing one of them to Louis.

Neither of them spoke for quite a moment. They've stared at the screen, supposedly very interested in Ellen DeGeneres' comedy special, which Louis was ashamed of watching, considering how absolutely horrible it was. Harry seemed to share that opinion though, and without even asking, he took the remote from his roommate's hands and completely turned off the TV. The living room went dimmer without the display's light. "I'm sorry I don't want to watch… _that._ ” He grimaced before he leaned to the coffee table and picked his phone back up, another one of those unnamed sixties songs started flowing quietly from the speakers around them. Louis was pretty sure it was Pink Floyd, and that was enough of an accomplishment in itself.

"Tough day?" He finally gathered the guts to speak, and he regretted doing that immediately. Harry shifted in his seat, his legs stretched in front of him as he blatantly _stared_ at him. Honestly, this was the most attention Louis ever got from the man and to be completely honest, it felt horrible. He wasn’t going to be the one to let it show how uncomfortable he was so, he did just the same; now stuck in a staring contest with a man who had an unfair advantage since he was not watching TV for the last two weeks with barely any breaks.

A smirk crept its way onto Harry’s lips, smooth even though he was repeatedly caught picking on them. He cleared his throat and took a sip of the whiskey. “You’ve told on me.” Here he was again, biting on his lips to hide the amusement, still staring deep into Tomlinson’s eyes.

It took Louis more than it should’ve to realize what the man was talking about. It was one of his not so many social interactions this week, he shouldn’t have forgotten it as soon as he did. “Sorry!” He raised his hands in surrender, the ice cube clinking aggressively in the glass from the abruptness of his movement. “He called me, I didn’t! He was asking questions, how are we doing and stuff and what was I supposed to…” He shook his head and returned his empty glass on the table, the fascination with the piece of furniture gave him an idea that he probably should’ve used a coaster. A fucking coaster! He scoffed silently and pushed away the worry about destroying the piece; there were no coasters around, Harry never used one, so why would he be concerned with that? He crossed his arms on his chest while he searched his mushy brain for an explanation. "Is that why you are angry?" He asked when his companion reached to the table and refilled their glasses. A song had changed in the middle of his action.

Harry sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, most likely at the memory of the phone call he ended less than twenty minutes prior. “I’m not _angry_.” He denied the allegations, handing Louis his filled glass. “Not at you, anyways.” The man got back to staring, something unusually forward in the way he seemed to be craving confrontation or just human contact. Maybe he felt lonely?

Louis was confused again, Harry tended to have that effect on him. Mainly his mood swings. One second, he barely acknowledged his existence, the next one he was fixing them drinks and initiating a staring contest. “So, you’re mad at Jeff.” The writer more observed than asked. A single nod confirmed his assumption. “As you’ve noticed before, numerous times…” He started, taking a sip to give himself more time to think about the rest of his sentence. “I’m as much at fault as he is, with the book and all.”

Styles seemed deep in thought, his eyes still on Louis, his lips pursed even though it looked like he didn't realize he was doing this. "It's a job opportunity for you, I can't really blame you for taking it." He shrugged and got up from his seat, looping around the couch. He approached one of the bookcases and reached the top shelf as Louis was observing his every move. He returned on the couch and threw the book in Lou's direction. The book very much familiar to the writer, _his_ book. How come he never noticed it was there? He checked out the collection a few times already. Perhaps, he completely ignored the top rows since they were out of his reach anyway? "See, I've read it, and I keep asking myself the same question over and over. Why, Louis?"

The writer was perplexed, the question took him aback a bit since he surely did not expect Harry to ever read his book. It was his most recent one, the harshest one too. No wonder he didn’t want anything to do with Louis if he believed that he was exactly _that_ person. "I don't know… money?" He took the book in his hands and brushed his fingers over the spine. It looked like it was never read, which only indicated that Harry took care of his things because, by the look in his eyes, Louis knew that he had, in fact, read it.

The dark brows furrowed as he looked at his guest; for a change, Harry was confused right now. “The Daily Mail doesn’t pay that well?” Styles scoffed as he watched Louis lean to the table, from where he retrieved a sharpie that was left there a day prior by Harry, who was signing some merchandise for some rich, important guy’s daughter.

Louis didn’t raise his head from above the title page of his study about Jim Morrison. He only smiled as he quickly signed the page, striving to include at least some of his wit, which did not come easy at all. “Of course, you would know my employment history, would you care to remind me of my blood type since I never seem to remember?” His words came out significantly more bitter when he voiced them. He threw the book back at Harry.

The taller man opened the book immediately but hasn't looked at the new addition immediately. “I don’t believe you’d think I’d let you inside my house without a background check.”

“I didn’t.” He cut the singer off before he could voice the doubt of his intelligence even further. “I thought you’d take Jeff’s word though. I never told him about… _that_.” He physically cringed at the memory of the start of his career. “Seems like you've done some digging by yourself.” He smirked, although Harry hiring somebody to research him could hardly be deemed doing the digging.

Louis couldn’t help but wonder what other things the man knew about him. What? Did Harry have a full list of guys he slept with? Embarrassingly enough, he had one of those lists regarding Styles, so even if that was the case (it couldn’t have been since Lou was more of informal flings kinda guy), he really couldn’t be mad about the singer knowing things about him, when he was literally hired to write about his life.

“Seems like I did, yeah.” Harry finally dipped his head down and dragged his fingertips over the ink that stained the front page, some of it seeping through the paper, staining the other.

‘ _For my biggest fan. The devil._ ' Louis wrote and just after he did that, he came up with three million other options that would've been way funnier than what he went with, but hey, he did good enough of a job. Styles smirked at the words.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re the devil.” Dark curls bounced a bit around Styles’ head when he shook it, the smile still stretching his lips.

You don’t?” Even Louis was surprised with genuine disbelief that manifested itself in his voice. Yeah, he kind of thought that it would be quite unreasonable for Harry to _hate_ him, especially since he, quite literally, did nothing. Nothing to infuriate him, nothing to get in his way after he first noticed the lack of Styles’ interest in him. The majority of their interactions were initiated by the singer himself, which hasn't really screamed hate.

“You know I don’t _despise_ you, do you not?” Harry asked while he split the last of the whiskey between their glasses.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to get a read on you sometimes.” Tomlinson admitted, swirling the glass to let the booze cool down a bit. “One day we’re cool, hanging out together and next you’re nowhere to be found… avoiding me.”

"I'm not…" The man sighed; he clenched his glass hard enough for his knuckles to go white. "I'm mostly at friend's…" He broke off another chunk, in his usual, chopped way of speaking when he wasn't sure what to say. "…hiding from you, yeah." He laughed and rubbed his neck in an attempt not to give away how awkward he felt. "See, I've told you that I'm not on board with what you two are doing. I am not going to give you any material, and it doesn't help that you're so easy to just… be around. And when you're comfortable around somebody, especially with…" Harry swirled his glass, presenting it to Louis. "alcohol involved… gets kind of tricky to keep your mouth shut, things slip out sometimes." His whole body shook in a guttural chuckle.

Louis took his sweet time, processing the words he just heard. So, wait a minute… Harry Styles doesn't hate him? That changed a lot of things but also did not change anything at all. He still didn't want to talk to him, so how exactly does that information benefit him? Well, perhaps it's nice, knowing that your sole presence doesn't make the artist's blood boil, but there was nothing more than that in those words. "You haven't slipped anything yet." He finally spoke, observing how Harry tilts his glass and finishes the last of his third drink.

“I did, you just haven’t caught it.” The brunette smirked and got up from the couch, taking his phone and the empty bottle from the table. “You’re gonna get yourself another one?” He asked, nodding at Louis’ nearly finished drink.

The writer shook his head, quickly took the last sip and gave the glass back to Harry, who turned off the music. "Goodnight, Harry." He sent his roommate to the kitchen, and he was left alone, without an answer from a man who was clearly not about to return.

Somehow, it was almost four in the morning when Styles left. It was strange because the time they’ve spent, staring at each other and downing drinks felt like a fraction of what it turned out to be.

Louis got up from the couch and didn’t even bother with folding the blanket, he stopped doing that when he noticed that Styles hasn't really used his living room, at least not during Lou’s stay. So, what would be the point of folding it, only to unfold the first thing after he wakes up? He turned off the lights ran upstairs, still getting the same amount out of breath as he did the first time.

He was already in his bed, tucked comfortably between fresh sheets Laura put on earlier that day. He had a TV on, just as background noise since there was not much of that coming from the outside. For the first time in a while, he felt genuinely tired. Turns out that conversations with Harry were doing a great job of wearing him off.

Apparently, it was not yet his time to go to sleep. The quiet knocking on the door startled him just a bit since he was somewhere in between two realms. He was convinced that the sound was not real, just a result of the two worlds bleeding together but either way, he decided to react even if the chance of Harry wanting something from him was microscopical. After all, he seemed to have decided that Louis’ temporary bedroom is just as off-limits to him, as his own was to the guest. Well, it was fair, even if the writer was not nearly as particular about his privacy. “Come in?” He raised his voice slightly, still uncertain if he wasn’t answering to nothing

But then, the door opened slightly, revealing the familiar head of dark curls, peeking through the gap. "What time do you get up in the morning?" The raspy voice was quieter than usual. He seemed abashed with the way he found Louis, all bundled up in bed.

Tomlinson brushed the hair off his face and raised on his elbow to have a better look at the man. "Bold of you to assume I wake up _in the morning_." He could've sworn he saw Styles roll his eyes, but he was tired, and it was dark, so his brain might have been making things up. "I should be up around noon, need my seven hours, so I don't scare anyone with my mug…" He scratched an itch he didn't have, so he could distract Harry from staring. "Now that I think about it… it doesn't really matter, does it? It's not like somebody's gonna be here when I wake up." He was taken aback by the way he sounded. Not quite sad yet, but there was _something_ in there.

Harry’s hair bounced around his head as he shook it, the strands pulled back with his big palm. “I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t going to be here tomorrow.” He pressed his lips together. “Okay, won’t bother you anymore. Sleep tight.” The man winked and disappeared behind the door, which he closed with a quiet click.

See? That was exactly why interactions with this man were so exhausting. He was just. Nothing was predictable with that one, signals that were mutually contradicting each other. Perhaps that layer of complexity in his character was the magnet for the fans? Ladies love a mysterious man, don’t they?

The thing was that he was not even aware of that quality before he met the man. Hell, it took him like a week to even realize that it was there and it was only because Harry _wanted_ him to know. He let Louis see through a bit of his act, only a tad though. Harry Styles seemed to be in full control over what he wanted people to see of him, and that was both kind of impressive and disturbing. Not to mention that it was going to make Louis' job a hell of a lot harder.

-

Tomlinson was convinced that the groan he released at the sound of his alarm could’ve been heard on the east coast, carrying some slight seismic vibrations with it. A third of a song had a chance of passing before he managed to wake up, although, calling him awake was a huge overstatement. His eyes were stuck with sleepy and doesn’t matter how hard he tried to open them, they wouldn’t budge, just as if they were stapled shut (the option becoming more and more real with every attempt).

But there was a reason why he even set the alarm in the first place, it’s not like he had it on every day. To be completely honest, he didn’t even remember when was the last time he used that feature of his phone since he had a principle of not setting any of his meetings and errands before two in the afternoon. One of the best things that came from his line of work.

Either way, the reason he was even up before he was ready to be up, was probably already awake. It wasn’t a common occurrence that Harry Styles, a worldwide popstar had exuded any kind of interest in Louis and considering why exactly he was even sent to live with him, the writer was not going to miss out on the chance for the sake of sleeping.

The struggle of getting out of bed drained like half of his share of life force for the day. He always got quite sluggish during the weekend, not like he was the prime example of an active lifestyle during the week but that wasn’t important. He dragged his bare feet to the bathroom where he emptied the whiskey his body had time to process overnight and briefly washed his hands without even looking into the mirror since he just _knew_ that he’d regret doing that.

He quickly rinsed his mouth with Listerine since he did not particularly enjoy the taste on his tongue and left his bedroom, not bothering with even closing the door behind himself. His stomach gurgled violently when his flared nostrils received a dose of the scent coming from the kitchen. He didn’t remember waking up this hungry in months, that’s why he picked up his pace and in a matter of seconds found himself in the kitchen.

Sure enough, Styles was already there, leaning over the counter; working on something, presumably breakfast. "Finally, if I'd known that the smell would've gotten you up, I'd start earlier." The man said and turned down the volume of the music he was listening to. Only then, he turned around and took a glance at Louis who felt like he was offending the man with his appearance. "You do look quite ghastly, did you not sleep well?" His eyebrows furrowed as he observed Louis, who did the same in exchange.

See, they went to sleep at the same time, Styles woke up earlier, and he still looked around fifty million times more presentable than Louis did. It was ridiculous for Lou to think about himself as any kind of presentable, really. Harry's silhouette, snugly hugged by the polyester athletic wear, which only gave the writer an idea that his host was already after his daily hike. "I don't remember." Tomlinson answered truthfully before he approached his companion and hung his eyes on two plates on the counter. "You've made waffles? Where did you even find time for all of this? The breakfast, the hike… do they give you a few spare hours in a day when you get famous?"

Harry looked at him with confusion, clear as day painted on his face. “If by _made_ , you mean defrosted some in the oven than yeah, I’ve made waffles.” He placed a handful of berries on each plate. “Wasn’t on the hike though, that’s what I need you for.”

“Since when?” Louis scoffed, extremely repulsed by a thought of the hike, not to mention one with Harry Styles who seemed to be more of a terminator than a human.

"Thought it would be nice… coffee?" He took a glance at Louis, and it was enough of an answer apparently. He picked up two mugs from the cupboard and engaged the coffee machine in his breakfast making. "I haven't seen you leave the house ever since I've met you and yeah… I know that you have left but going to Target doesn't count."

“Excuse me, Target is more than enough. I didn’t see you complain about my snack runs when you’ve devoured half of my pack of Jammie Dodgers.” He _tried_ to sound pissed while he spoke, but he just couldn't after he remembered Harry's face when he realized that he went through half a pack of biscuits in a matter of minutes. After Louis swore not to tell his personal trainer (not like he even knew the guy), Styles closed himself in the gym for one more hour, on top of the workout he had earlier that day.

I thought we’ve agreed not to bring that up, _ever._ " The man growled jokingly and took their plates to transfer them on the island. Louis, in an attempt to help him out, took the mugs filled with coffee and followed him to their usual meal location. Well… at least when Harry was at home. When he wasn't, Louis ate at either of the couches. "I'm not going to force you into anything, but you'd feel better if you got some exercise in you."

“I’m exercising, thank you very much.” Louis scoffed with a bite of his honied waffle still in his mouth.

“Yeah?” Styles seemed to be interested in that revelation. Well, it only proved that Tomlinson did his job of hiding his swimming well enough for the man not to notice.

“I’m swimming, daily… well, almost.” He started explaining. “The fact I don’t go outside too much doesn’t mean I do nothing.” He continued with his harmless, white lies that Harry had no way of verifying. “Could I go for a run or a _hike_?" The last word oddly venomous from the irrational hate Lou had for it. "I could, yeah. But I don't know any good spots, and I would like to avoid offending Kim and Kanye with my _ghastly_ appearance if they happen to live in the neighbourhood.”

“They don’t.”

“Huh?” Louis mumbled around the bite of his waffle. Somehow, he got lost in his thoughts in the brief pause in their conversation.

“They don’t live around here.” Harry rephrased and stuck his eyes to the plate. Louis took a quick glimpse at his profile and that awful, idiotic scrunchie, fully erect on the top of his head. He vividly remembered how absolutely _insulted_ Styles looked the first time he unintentionally presented it to his roommate and Louis, being Louis started cackling at the sight. Now, that he saw the peculiar hairstyle more often, it didn't pull nearly as severe reaction, but it still got an eye-roll here and there. Supposedly, it was Harry's way of keeping hair out of his eyes, but Lou could think of like ten other accessories that would do better of a job than a scrunchie. "I didn't mean to be rude." The apology came off extremely serious for such a minor offence, like he just ran over somebody's cat, not stated the obvious.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like you weren’t right.” He nudged the man in the shoulder with a fist and got back to eating. He did not know why, but the breakfast tasted better even though he had made the same thing for himself at least twice already. But there’s always something about the food that other people make that it just ends up tasting better, right? Louis could get used to this.

“You don’t…” Styles broke the silence only to let it take over straight away. “Never mind.” He waved his hand in dismissal and took a sip of his warm coffee, which Louis was pretty sure he hasn’t even sweetened. Disgusting.

"What?" Tomlinson inquired after he followed Harry's lead and emptied half of his cup in one go.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” The taller man insisted, his shoulders slumped above his nearly empty plate. He was just now picking the berries with his fingers, dipping in honey that dripped on the plate and tossing them into his mouth. He twisted his head and faced the stubborn expression on Louis’ face, one that made him talk. Not before he had a chance of plastering his eyes back to the fruit though. “What I was about to say that you don’t look that bad, usually.”

“Thank you. It’s comforting, knowing that I don’t look… _that_ hideous all the time.” He scoffed, more as a joke than anything else, he hoped Styles would read his intention correctly since he looked like he actually felt bad for saying what he said.

“You know… maybe I was lying yesterday. I do, in fact, hate you.” Harry sneered and got up from his seat, still laughing when he put his plate into the dishwasher. “I’m going to be upstairs, in the bedroom. Come get me when you’re ready to go.”

Harry left before Louis even had a chance of opposing. He did not know when exactly Styles assumed that he'd be going with him, but even though everything in his body screamed 'no', his brain whispered 'yes'. It was the biggest chance he got yet, it would be unreasonable to waste this only because of his laziness. "Think about the money." He murmured as he put his dishes in the washer and ran upstairs to his bedroom.

There was no reason for him to shower since he was going to get all disgusting throughout the _hike_. So, he kept his routine to the bare minimum. He rinsed his face with cold water and put his athletic clothes on. He couldn't find his hairband even though he knew that it was somewhere. At last, he found it at the bottom of his duffel bag and pushed his hair behind with the help of black elastic. That's exactly what he meant with other, more efficient ways to keep the hair out off your face. The use of scrunchie was still idiotic in Lou's head, but then, maybe Styles liked to bring attention to himself with gimmicks like that and who was he to judge?

Louis rubbed like a half of a stick of antiperspirant under his armpits, delusional that it would help and he wouldn't start sweating the second the sun hits him. After that, he put on his trainers and left the bedroom, heading in the direction he has never headed in before. "Come in." He heard as soon as his knuckles met the surface of the door to Harry's bedroom. After that whole 'do not go into my bedroom' rant, he was quite surprised with the invitation, but hey, it's not like he wasn't curious, so he just pushed the door and let himself inside.

Harry’s bedroom was at least twice the size as Louis’ entire suite, if not more. The walls, above the elegant panelling (which Lou’s room lacked) were greyish, tan colour and Louis _knew_ he heard the name of it in the past, but when he searched for it, he came up blank. The floors were the same as in every other room in the house, except for some spots when the floors were tiled. He was glad to observe that the rug, sprawled on the walnut floor, didn't look nearly as soft as the one in his room was. The bed, on the other hand… Lou was surprised they even made mattresses that big. They probably didn’t, for general public anyway. Then, on top of that, he couldn’t even fathom why would anybody need a bed that big. The one in Louis’ room could’ve easily fit four people his size, he was surprised he didn’t get lost in it. “Of course you make your bed in the morning.” Louis scoffed even though he was alone in the room, Harry disappeared somewhere behind the door to the right of a fireplace which was yet another pointless feature in the house.

“Makes you feel like you’ve accomplished something.” Harry’s deep laughter interrupted Louis’ brief scanning of the bookcases, lined against one of the walls.

“Might need to try that one someday then. It’s been a while since I felt like that.” He bit on the inside of his cheek as he still traced the spines with his index finger. “You didn’t say you were such a fan of mine, see… and I thought you’re the star in this house.” He shook his head when he retrieved the first book he wrote from between other titles.

“Huh?” Styles peeked his head from behind the doorframe, a toothbrush stuck against his cheek. “Oh, wait till you see the shrine.”

“Now it makes sense, was wondering what the fourth room was.”

"Could you sign it for me? Please, I'm your biggest fan!" The taller man went along with the banter, and sure enough, after the deepest sigh Louis could force out of his lungs, he started searching around for something to write with. "The second drawer of the nightstand." Harry reacted to his struggle, and there it was, an array of pencils and pens that the artist for some reason felt like keeping near his bed, where other people would be keeping stuff like condoms, lube or other 'personal items'.

Louis opened the book at the title page and started scribbling something he hoped Styles would find funny. After he was done, he was nearly certain that he wouldn’t, for the sole reason that he won’t be able to make words out of the messy handwriting but eh, whatever. He put the book back where he found it, the same went with a pen and got back to reading through the titles present in Harry’s personal collection. “No wonder every single book I’ve picked up from downstairs was utter garbage, you keep the good ones to yourself. Quite selfish, really. Could’ve at least given me some recommendations. It gets boring here.” He shook his head in faux disappointment when he turned around and got a bit startled when he saw Harry just a few steps away.

"Didn't know you like to read." The taller man shrugged, and Louis could not resist the sigh that escaped his lips when he saw their reflection in the mirror. See, the way their outfits were quite similar, only accentuated the differences between them and it did not do great things for his self-esteem.

"Guess me spending my entire days in front of the telly doesn't make me look like quite a reader." Louis scoffed, struggling to pull his gaze away from the mirror and stop comparing. "But no matter how shitty you think they are, I write books, would be weird not to read, wouldn't it?"

The deep wrinkle between Styles’ eyebrows got back on its place. “I guess.” He shrugged. “There are some moments when I just can’t stand any music, thought it might be similar with you…” The man approached Louis, thankfully obstructing the mirror with his body. He started scanning the bookcase. “Yeah, the books… downstairs. They’re mostly decoration, really.” The confession caused Louis to scoff, even if he tried to stop it, he couldn’t. Thought of buying books for decoration was just too ridiculous for him to handle. “Don’t judge me!” Harry laughed. “Either way, here’s where I keep things I choose for myself.”

“Any recommendations?” Louis asked, still nibbling on the inside of his cheek.

“What do you read… usually?”

“I’ll trust your judgement.”

“I’ll pick something up when we’re back. Don’t you think I don’t know what you’re doing, stalling me with conversation.”

“Thought you forgot already.” Louis groaned, causing a smirk on Styles’ lips. He started dragging his feet out of the bedroom. Harry followed his lead and much to Lou’s surprise, he left the bedroom door wide open.

“It’s a wardrobe.” The singer murmured as they were passing the only room Louis didn’t know the purpose of. Yeah, it should’ve been obvious what Harry was talking about, but it really didn't hit Louis at first. He drew his eyebrows together and looked at the taller man with confusion. "The fourth room, there are clothes in there."

"Ah…" He stopped and pointed his fingers at the correct door. "Gucci vault. Noted."

“Figured it would be better to tell you than find out it’s some weapon stash or BDSM chamber when the book comes out.” Styles shrugged when they ran down the stairs. “Go to the car.” He instructed and took a turn to the kitchen while Louis went in a whole different direction.

‘Which fucking car?’ He asked in his thoughts and decided that it’s better if he just waits till Harry gets back.

The man was there in maybe a minute with two big bottles of cold water in his hand. He unlocked one of the cars, lined up in the garage, and they both started walking towards the black Range Rover.

"I don't lie." Tomlinson felt like he should explain himself even if there was no reason for him to do that. But Styles reacted to this revelation with confusion. They both buckled up, but the driver wouldn't take his eyes off Louis. "In my books, I mean." Harry only nodded and started the engine, backing up from the garage as soon as the door opened.

“How are you going to write about me then? If I’m not going to give you anything?” Louis started to get irritated at the sight of that smug smirk that always was there when the man bragged about making his job harder on purpose.

“I’ll improvise, google stuff. It can’t be _that_ hard to write a bland biography.”

“I guess it cannot.” The man reached into the glove compartment while they were on a red light and put sunglasses on his face. The man’s preparedness made Louis regret that he didn’t think of packing a pair for himself. “What was your plan? You know, before I came around and fucked things up for you.” Well, at least he was self-aware.

"We thought…" He started, but then he remembered that Jeff hasn't thought shit, he mainly took the role of Lou's yes man throughout the whole conceptualizing. "I thought that I'd start with some basic, boring biography stuff. Like where you were born, some childhood memories and then move to some more interesting things. Maybe a tour journal, some conversations, following your creative process and stuff." There was a bit of sadness in his voice when he briefed Harry on his plans for the book, plans which he was never going to go through with.

“Sounds interesting, poor choice of a subject though.”

Louis rolled his blue eyes and regretted doing that when he blinded himself while unintentionally catching a beam. “Tell me about it.” He turned his head to the window and observed the houses they were passing, the buildings grew sparser as they went. “You make me miss writing about dead people.”

"You've been googling me a lot?" Harry finally spoke after a long while of silence, interrupted only by the scraping of their shoes on the rocky path they were following. The hike turned out to be more advanced than Louis had anticipated it to be. He tripped like a million times already, and if you were to believe Styles, they were halfway there. The timing was poor as well, they ended up walking in the hottest time of the day, and it was just straight-up torture, especially for Louis who might have been a skosh hungover from the drinks he served himself and was served by Harry.

Of course, mister superstar turned out to be considerably better when it came to the whole hiking thing, even though Louis kind of had a hunch that he wasn't even on his top game, whether he was also hangover or just considerate enough to slow down for the sake of Louis not losing his life in the process.

Louis thanked God for pushing him into buying a black workout tee since it somewhat covered his sweatiness; at least didn’t accentuate it the way Harry’s grey one did. But Styles seemed completely unphased by the sweat stains on the fabric. To be honest, it was weird to even call them stains since most of the material was drenched. Either way, Harry Styles seemed to be one of those people who wore their sweaty tops with pride, which was the most bizarre thing in Lou’s opinion but hey, whatever floats your boat.

"You didn't give me too much choice, did you?" He finally spoke between his embarrassingly heavy breathing. The fact that even Harry was slightly panting was perhaps a smidge too comforting that it should've been. "I've been googling here and there, not too much after I've arrived though."

“Anything interesting?” He asked without any visible interest. He stopped walking for a second and took in the view stretched before their eyes.

"No, not really. A lot of girlfriend stuff, some interviews." He shrugged as if Harry could see him. He didn't stop walking in hopes he'd get some distance ahead of his companion, but his plan came to nought as soon as the taller man started walking again, his steps more decided, faster. "Didn't know you were dating somebody."

Styles pushed the air out of his lungs and without even stopping, took few gulps of his water, getting rid of a third of the bottle at once. "Well, I am." The pointedness of his voice surprised Louis to whom it didn't even occur that his question was inappropriate. Well, apparently it was. Just like that, Louis had lost another important chapter of his book. No girlfriend talk. Got it.


	5. Chapter 5

Contrary to the usual routine, it was Louis who got back late the following Friday. Surprisingly, Styles cut the hours spent outside his own house quite significantly after their little bonding hike that ended up being something regular. Not every day, absolutely not. Louis would've died if he had to do that daily, but it became routine. Every other day, interchangeably with his swimming.

Harry wasn’t necessarily right when it came to this whole ‘you’ll feel better if you become active’ thing because Louis only felt worse. Even though he was somewhat used to his legs hurting all the time, it still didn’t change the fact that he _hated_ it. On top of that, his lack of coordination led to numerous scrapes on his hands and knees, which made him look like a fucking eight-year-old. He thought it would get better as the time goes, but so far, there was no progress. His latest scrape turned out to be the worst one yet. He bled so much, Harry even considered driving him to ER.

The house was dark, for the most part. The corridors were lit since they were always left like that when either of the tenants was not home when the other one laid for the night. It was two in the morning when Louis finally gave up on looking for somebody to hook up with. To be completely honest, he didn’t even feel like going in the first place. It was Styles who pressured him into going out to socialise a bit and yeah, he was probably right with that. One more week and he'd turn into the biggest loner in the city, and it didn't help that generally, people in LA were quite sociable.

Louis got to know that fact that particular night, in a bar he chose to pop into. He wasn’t really a clubbing kind of guy, so the bar seemed to be the next best thing to meet someone. He had fun, downing drinks one after another and talking with strangers about most random stuff. Somewhere, in the back of the head, he had a thought of getting laid because, honestly… it’s been long enough. His plans were serious enough that he even notified Styles that he might not be coming back for the night since he _obviously_ couldn't bring somebody to his current residence. He was sure that if having sex with him came with the possibility of a tour of Harry Styles' house, he'd be far more popular in the bar though.

But well, shit happens. He was back home, and the silence hit him especially hard after hours of listening to the bar's hubbub. His brain was so strained from all the noise that he kind of felt like he still heard some of it, the clinking of glasses, the thud of pints being basically thrown on the tables… all of it still lingering in his head.

He was undecided whether he should head straight to bed or go for another drink, a few perhaps, just to cloud his self-consciousness that peaked after the absolute failure he suffered in the bar. After just a second of hesitation, he headed for the bar.

The lack of the sixth glass that was usually there, displayed rim-down on the brass tray, gave him a clear indication that Harry was having drinks that day too. Alone, which seemed quite sad to Louis, who only then realised that he was about to do the same thing. It appeared that both of them were quite forlorn that day and it didn't even make sense for Louis to feel like that, it was the most human contact the got from the moment he arrived in LA. 

He didn't feel like going upstairs just yet, going back and forth for the refills was too big of a hassle, and he just _knew_ he'd be going back for more. So, instead of going upstairs, he grabbed the book he was currently reading and left to the garden. He reclined in one of the sunbeds, set the glass on the table and opened the book Harry recommended him. It was some romantic novel, not really Louis' style at all, but he promised he'd read everything the man gives him and with three books behind him, he kept his word.

Not knowing exactly why Louis started wondering what he was going to get to read next. He was half-consciously working through the last chapters when he reached a plot twist he had not anticipated; the event made the book just a bit better. See, he didn't see the ending coming, and now the guy was laying on the ground, spasming out after an intentional overdose and well, it was sad… but it also gave the whole story some flavour it lacked.

As he was reading through the dramatic scene of the protagonist's passing, he fully submerged into the lines he was taking in with his eyes. It was dim outside, the only light coming from the outdoor sconces fixed on the exterior of the house. He really needed to focus to see the words, of course, his altogether wooziness, caused by the alcohol he drank wasn't helpful either, not at all. "Fucking hell!" He exclaimed when he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder, the left one, closer to the door. He ended up spilling the rest of the drink he held all over himself. "You will kill me eventually if you don't cut this shit out." He scolded his new… friend (???), but the man couldn't have looked less threatened with that wide, stupid grin on his face.

Louis didn’t really know what to call this thing he had with Harry. Their relation was still confusing the shit out of him. Because _yes_ , the amount of time they were spending either with each other or around each other had increased significantly, like a thousand percent. But then, Harry only ever talked about silly stuff, things that didn’t have too much actual substance or _worth_ and to be quite honest, this was all Louis ever needed from him.

This whole thing was quite ridiculous, really. The reason why he was here, why he even met Harry was to get to know him, gain material for his book, but that obviously did not happen. It's not like Louis thought that it would, Styles was quite explicit with his aversion to the project from the get-go. What had occurred though, exceeded all of Tomlinson’s expectations as to what the man could do and what he was stupid enough to allow him to do.

Somehow, contrary to his initial coyness, Harry turned out to be quite a good conversationalist. He knew when to nod, when to slip some insignificant reaction and what he also knew was when and _how_ to ask questions.

The writer was embarrassed to admit how many times he let his guard down around Harry and told him more than he ever intended to share. It was not fair, not at all. He usually picked moments when Louis was the most vulnerable, whether it were their hikes or late evenings when they were both tired and tipsy. This cunningness only made Louis think that perhaps the man had missed his calling; he would’ve made a great interviewer. But then, he seemed to be doing just fine in the music business so, yeah… He was better off like that, being praised, instead of called the scum of the earth.

Harry's ability to hypnotise him in conversation with such ease, resulted in Louis telling him about the most private stuff. For example, one of the evenings, they were just sitting on the floor of Styles' closet (the one which he was not allowed to go into but oh well), sorting through some stuff the artist was sent by various companies for free as if he was the one who needed freebies. It was their usual setting, some music in the background, gin and tonic in glasses and before Louis had a chance to realise what exactly was happening, he was already talking about his mother.

He _never_ talked about his mother. He had three friends in London, and only one of them knew about the shit Louis was through with his mum in the past, and the struggles of their day-to-day life after his mum has been diagnosed. Harry really took advantage of his moment of weakness, there was no denying that. For some time, he was even wondering if it wasn't planned out since Styles just made sure that Louis gets extra tired with the hike and then, on top of that, they ended up making laps in the pool when the sun started setting; the drinks tasted stronger too, but that might have been Louis' paranoia.

This was the dumbest Louis had felt, possibly ever. Getting any kind of information, doesn't matter how minor and insignificant out of the singer was real torture and he just spilt his biggest secret to a stranger without any reason whatsoever. After that night, he decided to pay more attention to what comes out of his mouth and be more careful around Harry altogether. It was not like the boy had any use of the info he got about Louis’ life, but the whole awareness of his knowledge was uncomfortable enough.

Harry did give away some things here and there, but there was nothing Louis could actually use. Really, how significant was the fact that he had asthma as a kid or that he could pretty much bench press a fucking elephant? No real substance, not a smidge of it.

He never wanted to talk about his friends or his girlfriend and as much as Louis kind of understood that the singer was just this type of person that would never put his close people’s privacy in jeopardy for the sake of a conversation, it was just impressive how much control he had over what he was saying; although it might not have been that surprising, considering how long it took the man to form a semi-cohesive sentence.

“Now that would be a headline.” Harry scoffed as he sat on the sunbed to Lou’s left, his feet still on the tiles as he looked at his companion. “Harry Styles murdered a mystery man in his mansion.” He raised his voice, alternating it to sound a bit like a newscaster. “That would make the book sell like hot cakes.”

"Would be quite a hassle, writing a book from beyond the grave and all." Louis closed his lecture and put it on the table. Without hesitation, he took the t-shirt off and dabbed it on his stomach, soaking up the alcohol that was bound to become sticky in a matter of minutes. "Wouldn't mind haunting this place though."

Harry only smirked at the thought and took the t-shirt from Lou's hands to dry the spot where the booze spilt on the tiles. "Thought you weren't supposed to be back today?"

"Well, plans change. I know that you're probably not even aware of such things, but sometimes it gets tricky to get laid."

“Don’t tell me that LA girls are immune to that accent and dry sense of humour of yours because I will not believe it! ” He took the last sip of his drink, grabbed Lou's glass and left to get them refills. "Now that I think about that… they probably had a hard time understanding you. Sometimes I do, and after all, I'm British." Louis threw thunders with his gaze at the man who got back with a whole bottle which seemed more reasonable than constantly chasing after refills.

"You're not British anymore, we've renounced you." Tomlinson unknowingly pursed his lips as he watched his glass being filled with whiskey that seemed too fancy for it to be wasted on his palate. But hey, Harry was sharing it so willingly, and he was not strong enough to deny himself the pleasure. "When was the last time you even went there anyway?"

The dark brows furrowed when the man jumped back in time to recall the right dates. "Privately? Over Christmas. I was there short before you've moved in, for work." He admitted after a quick assessment whether it was not too important of information to give Louis.

“It’s really only your shitty humour that gives you away.”

“Sounds quite dumb from a person that makes me laugh so much.” Styles retaliated with surprising ease and speed that was out of the ordinary for him. Louis had noticed that his subject’s tongue gets looser when he had something to drink, but he was never quite as responsive as now.

Louis only shrugged; his lips bent in a smirk. “I never said my jokes aren’t bad.” He took a break for a sip. “In my defence, it’s the worst ones that get you the most.”

“Hey!” Brunette nudged Louis’ shoulder. He looked slightly offended.

"Don't worry, mister famous. It's not that bad for your biggest flaw." The shorter man chuckled. "Saw myself in Daily Mail today."

“You did?” There was a genuine surprise in Harry’s voice. “Why do you ever read _that_?” He drew through his teeth, a disgust audible in his voice.

"I don't." Louis confessed. "My friend was quite surprised when he was editing an article and Harry Styles' 'mysterious friend'…" He made air quotations. "Turned out to be his, not so anonymous mate." He shook his head, chuckling. "You work there for two years, and they don't even remember that you exist, I should write a complaint or something."

“Why didn’t your friend tell them?”

“Because he hates the place.” The shorter man laughed. “We all do, but it’s a job. Everybody hates their job.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Styles refilled their glasses and almost as soon as he put the bottle down, he was already done with the drink. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head, his hair falling onto his face, hiding his expression.

“For what?” Louis was genuinely confused with the apology. He sipped his drink, much slower than Harry got rid of his.

"You were staying home, trying to avoid all of this and well… I made you go out with me and next thing you know, you're on the page of this shitty excuse for journalism." The man poured himself another drink, he tried to top off Louis', but he refused.

“I wasn’t staying home because I didn’t want to be seen with you, are you kidding?” The writer scoffed, observing with worry how quick his companion got through the drink. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, didn’t want to bother you.” He shrugged, circling his fingertip over the rim of a glass.

“Are you talking to Jeff? Recently?” Styles asked, his gaze locked somewhere behind Lou’s head.

"I've been trying to not to, but he's tenacious."

“Yeah, he told me you’re ignoring him.” The younger man chuckled briefly. “What did you tell him the last time you’ve talked?”

It took the writer a moment to recall his most recent conversation with Azoff. It was true, he avoided him. Mostly, his work phone was shut down in the drawer of his bedside table, but then, Jeff caught on his act and started calling his personal. Their last talk was around a week ago, and he lied to him, he didn't even know why he did. It just seemed like the right thing to do. "Told him the truth. That you don't want anything to do with both me and the book." He smirked at one, particular memory. "Might have called him a git."

Harry scoffed at the revelation and Louis started laughing because yes, he did, in fact, insult his boss at the end of their last call. It’s not like he didn’t have a reason, really. Jeff lied to him, well… he hadn’t exactly said that Styles was _okay_ with the book, but he hasn't said that he was not okay either. He told him not to worry about it, and now, he had a plethora of things to worry about, most of them a result of the gig he was hired for.

"How did he react?" The younger man kept laughing, the last of his ice cube clinking frantically as he shook. Louis only pursed his lips and shrugged in the answer because Jeff didn't really _react._ At least not before the writer had the chance of tossing his phone on the bed, the boss still on the line. “I bet he had to google what it meant.”

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was studying Brit slang for our future chats ." Louis finished his drink, and Harry was reaching for the bottle, but he was stopped. They both had enough. "You think he'd fire me if I called him a twat?"

“I don’t think so, no.” The man sipped the last of the liquid in his glass that was more melted ice than anything else. "He knows I wouldn't talk to anybody else. See, he might not look like, but he's a sly bastard, he knew damn well what he was doing, picking you for the job." He sighed deeply enough for the air to reach Louis' exposed chest. He stumbled just a bit when he stood up from the sunbed.

“It’s not like you’re talking to me.” Tomlinson observed and decided that he probably should head upstairs as well. “What did you mean with the picking me for the job thing?” The shorter man furrowed his brows as he followed his friend inside, quickly returning the bottle to the bar as Styles closed the garden door.

They climbed the stairs, and just when they nodded at each other in farewell, Harry decided to answer the question asked quite a while ago. "Nothing, it's just way more complicated than you realise it is." He nearly whispered, and when the realisation hit him, he picked up his pace and quickly disappeared behind the door of his bedroom.

The entire time he showered, getting rid of the grime from the bar plus the drink that he spilt all over himself, Louis kept thinking what exactly Harry meant by the last words he said that evening. The thing was, it felt _huge_. It felt like exactly what Louis needed, a substance. He was sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear the words, that Styles hasn’t even intended to say them, but he did. He slipped, the first time in three weeks they've known each other. But what was the point in the man slipping when Louis had absolutely no idea what he was talking about?

What’s so complicated, Harry Styles?

-

"I can smell your cologne, you knob." Louis scoffed and thwarted Harry's hardest efforts to scare him yet again. No matter how many times he told the man not to do that, he wouldn't listen. It both pissed Louis off and kind of relieved him just a touch, considering that Styles was not avoiding him anymore, he wasn't for a while now.

Harry cursed under his breath because for some reason he was determined to startle the shit out of Lou, maybe because he hasn’t gotten the chance to do so in the three last days they’ve barely seen each other. “I’m gonna get you, one day.” He sighed and jumped into the second corner of the couch, Louis was occupying. Thankfully, there were two of those because both men refused to sit anywhere else but in the corner. It only made Louis think that their relationship wouldn't look nearly as peaceful if there had only been one corner to the couch. "What are these?" The taller man asked, looking at the array of bags scattered around the coffee table.

Louis had finally forced himself to go shopping, something he postponed from the day he set foot in LA. But now, with only a few days till he goes on the trip around the world, he really couldn't wait any longer, could he? "I went shopping." He tucked his feet under his bum and reached for a box that was tempting him from the coffee table "Bought doughnuts." He lifted the lid of the box he held on his lap and was quite surprised to find six rounds still in there, he thought he ate way more than a half of what he bought.

Harry watched as Louis poked his finger through the hole and brought the treat to his mouth, biting the thing without any regret. "Ah, priorities." He laughed and swept the bags with his gaze. "What did you buy?" The older man chewed on his doughnut before he could answer the question, but he didn't get the chance, Styles already took one of the bags and dumped its contents onto his lap. He grabbed a plain t-shirt and scrunched his nose at the sight. “You really have the most boring fashion.”

Tomlinson huffed in response, pretty much all of the powdered sugar his doughnut was dusted with landed on his legs. "Okay, mister Gucci ambassador." He rolled his eyes and started to pat his legs in an attempt to get rid of the sugar, most of which stuck in the hair on his legs. "Speaking of which… somebody dropped your mail off." He nodded in the direction of three huge bags, filled to the brim with free merchandise.

Louis watched with surprise as his friend, with unusual enthusiasm, jumped off the couch and pulled the bags opened. He reached into each, but when the realisation came that he wasn't going to find what he was looking for that way, he dumped everything on the carpet shuffling through the pile until he found an Amazon package. “It’s here!” He chirped with fake enthusiasm, showing Louis the cardboard packaging as if he had any idea what the man ordered. Ignoring the mess of boxes with high-end logos, he got back on the couch and ripped the box open. “What happened to your knee?” He asked, surprising Louis with how observant he was.

“The hike? When you’ve nearly killed me?” Thunders were thrown at the singer from across the couch when the memory of Lou’s latest accident was brought back. To be fair, Harry had no contribution to the scuff, at least other than forcing this new workout routine on him but yeah, the official story was that Harry tried to kill him, not the first time anyways.

“It wasn’t that bad before.” Dark brows furrowed when Styles refused to be dismissed with an answer that was only half true.

"I tripped when I tried to get everything inside in one go, okay?" He tucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and started nibbling on it, thinking that it would make him look less stupid. It didn't. The mocking smile that bent Styles' lips did not help him at all, only pissed him off but then, he probably deserved it. On a regular basis, it was he who made fun of the younger guy. "Guess I know who was that one person who bought my book last week." He joked, rolling his eyes when he saw what Harry unpacked from the box. It was his second book, the latest piece, concluding Harry's collection of Louis' doubtfully meaningful contribution to the literary world.

"Would you care to sign this one as well?" The book was reached in his direction, and he accepted it, along with a pen.

"Not fair, you haven't signed anything for me." Louis threw the book on the table. "Can't believe I never thought about that, I will surely need something to sell when I go bankrupt after Jeff sues me." He squinted his eyes and looked around the room. "If I was smart enough, I would've stolen something by now." He sighs.

“What do you want? I’ll sign it for you to steal.”

“How generous for a man who will lead to my homelessness.” Louis closed his eyes and leaned his head onto a pillow, taking in the music because this time, it was actually him who put it on. He was quite tired after the entire day of swerving around people at the mall, even if he chose the one which was supposedly the least crowded.

It was late again. He got back home after four in the evening and kind of didn't do anything at all after that and now, it was almost midnight. He was hungry, even if he probably shouldn't be but the doughnuts he ate instead of some actual food haven't filled him for too long. Against all logic, he started nibbling on another round even though he just complained that they were not enough, but eh, he was too tired to make something so… doughnuts it is.

He didn't even want to think about the mess of the bags and clothes he still had to clean before heading to bed. He even thought about leaving it for the next day, but then, Laura would've done it for him, and he'd feel guilty afterwards because it was not her job to take care of his mess.

Without further ado, he started picking up the bags, one by one and dumping the contents on the couch, between Harry and himself. Neither of them spoke for the next hour. Louis didn’t feel like it was necessary, Styles did not know what exactly he could’ve said because ‘sorry’ just didn’t seem to cut it.

They just sat on the couch, ripping the tags off new clothes and throwing them in a pile on the floor, so Louis could wash them the next day. He wasn’t necessarily a clean freak but even for him, wearing clothes strangers might have tried on was disgusting.

The pile turned out to be taller than Louis ever thought it would be, making him dread the following day laundry. He shouldn't have bought so much, he didn't even realise that he did. "You've bought the same thing twice." Harry eyed him with a smirk on his face, holding two t-shirts that were thankfully basic enough he could make use out of them.

“Yeah, I’m stupid.” He tugged the shirts from Harry’s hands, tossed them on the floor and continued with his task without saying anything more. He might have been expecting Styles to say that he’s not stupid. Harry did this sort of thing ever since he said that Louis looked ‘not that bad’, as if he still felt guilty for doing that. But this time, he said nothing. He just ripped the tags off, using his teeth if any turned out to be more stubborn than the rest.

When they were done with the clothes, Louis shoved them all in few of the bags and brought them upstairs, so Laura doesn't get the chance to wash them. _Technically_ , he could've just stayed in the bedroom and go to sleep since he was tired, but as he was leaving, Harry started to work through some of his packages, and his nosiness won the battle with exhaustion.

"Thank Jesus, was too embarrassed to ask you to help me, but yeah, I could use an extra pair of hands.” Harry sighed when Louis sat opposite of him, a huge pile of boxes in between them.

The writer could approach the thing in three ways. He could've lied and pretended that this is some kind of sacrifice he's taking for Harry's sake, he could've exuded the enthusiasm that was always there when they were opening Styles' mail, and then he could've just acted indifferent, and that's exactly what he chose. "You've helped me, it's only fair, isn't it?"

Harry did not answer because there was no need to do that. The teamwork made the whole debacle way quicker. Louis was the one ripping the boxes apart and retrieving the products from the array of unnecessary packaging while Harry was dividing everything into two piles, pretty much everything landed on one to his right.

Sometime along the way, drinks came into the picture and made the whole thing more enjoyable for both, not like Louis needed another motivator but hey, why not?

Neither was very talkative that evening. While for Harry, it wasn't a very rare occurrence, it sure was for Louis, who sometimes felt like he had to make up for what the other wasn't saying. They were both tired, and it was very apparent as they gazed at each other from above the pile that thankfully grew smaller quite quickly.

“It’s gonna be a nightmare getting through these when you're not here anymore." The taller man mumbled around the half a slice of pizza he managed to stuff into his mouth after he surprised Louis with dinner. "Each delivery it's more and more stuff and see… I don't need any of this." He gazed at the big pile of items he was either going to give away or donate. His 'keep' pile consisted of a few bottles of alcohol, two colognes and a few quirky t-shirts.

"I have a hard time believing that there's a shortage of willing helpers to get through Harry Styles' stuff." Tomlinson sneered when he chased the bite with a sip of cold beer. "And then, I won't be here to annoy you, so it's a win, I think." He shrugged and placed his empty plate on the table. He got to the pile of packaging and continued to smash the cardboard boxes, so they took less space.

Harry sunk deep in thought just for a second before he ate the last of his dinner and joined the shorter man. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He laughed at Lou, who got smacked in the face with a piece of dense packaging that sprung back when he folded it. “Are you excited to get on the road?”

“Not really.” He admitted, stomping over the box that nearly knocked him out just a few seconds ago. Harry looked at him with a question in his gaze. “Here I can kind of pretend that I’m working but when the tour starts…” He cut himself off because showing how actually worried he is about the whole project was the dumbest idea in his head.

Because he was fucking _worried._ To the point when he stayed up some nights, researching his legal options in case he’s not able to deliver his side of the deal. He didn’t have too much to go off of, apart from Jeff pretty much lying to him that Harry’s okay with everything but then, when push comes to shove… neither Harry nor any of men present during the negotiations were going to testify against Azoff so yeah… he was done for.

Styles took in the pained expression on Tomlinson's face as he folded boxes himself. A similar look welcomed his face because he was fully aware that whatever it was that bothered Louis, it was most definitely related to him. "We'll figure something out." He promised, even though he knew he shouldn't. He stopped himself from saying these words numerous times already because whether they wanted it or not, the topic of their conversations almost always shifted to the book, the thought of the reason why Louis came into Harry's life was in the back of his head the whole time. "You want anything?" He nodded in the direction of the bigger pile, just to ease the tension that was apparent from the moment they started talking about the uncertainty of Louis’ future.

Tomlinson knelt in front of the pile and rummaged a bit before he found exactly what he was looking for. “Can I have these?” He showed the taller one a bunch of patterned socks he had his eye on ever since he opened the package.

“You could’ve picked _anything_ , and you’ve picked socks.” Styles closed his eyes for a second, biting on his tongue to hide his amusement. “Thousand-dollar cologne? Designer shoes? No, thanks. Fucking _socks_.” He scoffed and left the array of boxes on the floor, to be dealt with the following day. He picked up their dirty dishes and went to put them into the dishwasher. Even if he couldn’t see, he knew he was being followed.

Louis jumped onto the counter and sat with his legs dangling in front of him when Harry started hand-washing their dishes since, for some reason, the washer was full already. "I finished the book you gave me." He completely brushed over Harry's mocking of his odd choice to get a few pairs of ten-dollar socks instead of ridiculously priced Valentino cologne. "Could use something new to read, I'm pretty sure I've seen everything on Netflix already." He exhaled slowly; his eyes plastered to Styles' focused face.

“You never like anything I give you, why won’t you come and pick something for yourself?” Just as the proposition left his lips, the soaped glass slipped from between his slender fingers. The amount of noise the whole occurrence caused, made Louis mourn the loss of a piece of the set of crystal glasses until Harry picked it up and it turned out to be just fine.

To be completely honest, he didn’t want to pick anything for himself. For some twisted reason, he enjoyed going through things Styles picked for him because even though he ended up being unimpressed by the majority, it _kind of_ gave him access into Harry's brain, and that's exactly what he was desperate for, ever since he met the man. "Give me something that will sweep me off my feet or… no, not that. Give your favourite work of your favourite author."

“I don’t know if it’s your kind of thing.” Styles stuck his tongue in between his front teeth as he contemplated something, perhaps was thinking about his favourite book.

“And what exactly made you think that smutty romantic novel from a week ago was my kind of thing?”

It took a memory of Louis’ face when he returned the book to make Harry laugh.“ Thought you could use some action after that bar fiasco.”

“Ah, you know me so well.” The writer cringed when he remembered the extensive sex scene that dragged through the entire chapter. Honestly… if the author took nearly as much time with the plot as she did with the smut… the book wouldn’t be nearly as bad. Although it might have been Louis’ bias towards straight sex because yeah, Harry Styles apparently left his gaydar in one of his other houses and still believed that Louis was a straight man. Kind of funny considering how hard Tomlinson had to try not to involve the man in his fantasies when he broke from time to time and eased himself.

He couldn't help but think whether Styles would still be as open to walking barely clothed if he knew. As it turned out, after the initial hoodie phase, Harry Styles was not a big clothes person. The memorable hot tub hangout revealed everything there was to reveal to Louis, and after that, Harry's layers started decreasing until he fully prancing around the house with only his athletic shorts on. It didn't take long for Louis to fully get accustomed to that way of living, it hasn't affected him anymore, at least not the way it did the first time anyway. The desire sizzled out as their relationship developed and now there was a million other things Lou would think about in relation to the singer before he’d think about fucking him. First of the things, his own, goddamned career.

There was a time when he even considered telling Harry after he realised that he didn't get the memo about his sexual interests, but then, he was kind of afraid it would get weird, and it's not like he needed another obstacle in his struggle to have some relationship with the man. He was not obliged to come out to anybody, so he chose not to.

“Are you home tomorrow?” Louis asked after he jumped off the counter and started heading out of the kitchen. Sometimes he even forgot that he had to ask the question since Harry stopped avoiding him. But now, with the tour approaching, Harry actually seemed busy. Some last-minute rehearsals, costume fitting, TV appearances and those type of things Louis deemed ‘superstar business’.

"No, I'll be late tomorrow." He pressed his lips in a tight line and caught up to Louis, who was already nearing the stairs.

“Gonna need that book then." Tomlinson nudged his friend in the side as they climbed the stairs, side by side. "Gnight.” He murmured when he took a turn right into his bedroom, he did not get an answer.

Showering was perhaps the last thing Louis had in mind that evening, that’s why he decided to postpone the event for the morning… well, not morning but when he wakes up. He washed his scraped knee with soap and water since he couldn’t be bothered with doing this before, brushed his teeth somewhat carefully and buried himself into the soft sheets, nuzzling his face against them, trying to memorise the luxury he was living in before he had to let it go.

He was pretty sure he already dozed off when a quiet knock on the door brought him back from the land of dreams and happiness, the land where his livelihood was not dependent on a particularly confusing pop star who, in this exact moment opened the door to his bedroom after his half-conscious invitation. "Hi, sorry…" He whispered in the darkness, lit only with the TV Louis had a habit of leaving on a timer so it would help him fall asleep.

Louis observed Styles with his half-lidded eyes, the boy only approached his bed and hung his gaze on the book he was holding as if he had a hard time parting with it. Quite ridiculous considering that he was going to get it back as soon as his friend is finished with it. The writer lifted his head from the pillow and inspected his subject’s odd behaviour without commenting on it.

Harry caught Louis' eyes in the darkness, and the uncomfortable feeling of being watched pushed him out of the room, not before he had the chance to leave the book on the nightstand though. "Goodnight, Lou." He pressed his lips in an expression resembling a smile, but Louis knew that it was forced and far from genuine. He only smiled in response because well… he said his already.

His curiosity won over the sleepiness, and as soon as the door closed, he reached for the book. It was quite a hefty one. If Louis' ability to estimate the number of pages by thickness was to be believed, he had something around four hundred to get through. The title itself made him push out a grunt of discontent, especially the last word of it. 'The Last Night of the Earth Poems'. God, he hates poetry. He brought it onto himself, though. Now that he thought about it, Harry was such a poetry person.

The title had discouraged him from the lecture so much, he hasn't inspected the book any further. It was still going to be there when he wakes up, and he could get through it later. So, lured by the possibility of sleep, he chucked the worn paperback copy of Bukowski’s poetry under his pillow and laid down for the night, missing the smutty novel that seemed to be so much better than poems, even though Louis hasn’t had a chance of reading any of them yet.


	6. Chapter 6

_"there's a bluebird in my heart that_   
_wants to get out_   
_but I'm too clever, I only let him out_   
_at night sometimes_   
_when everybody's asleep._   
_I say, I know that you're there,_   
_so don't be_   
_sad._   
_then I put him back,_   
_but he's singing a little_   
_in there, I haven't quite let him_   
_die_   
_and we sleep together like_   
_that_   
_with our_   
_secret pact_   
_and it's nice enough to_   
_make a man_   
_weep, but I don't_   
_weep, do_   
_you?"_

_~"Bluebird", Charles Bukowski_

The room was already bright, but not enough that it was painful when Louis regained his consciousness and stirred with the sheets wrapped tightly around him, restricting him from any more decided movement. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that he had never been awake at this hour, at least not since he stopped working from nine to five. He didn’t recognize the lighting conditions because, oh well… when he usually woke up, the sun was in full swing already, blinding him from the second he opened his eyes as he never seemed to remember to draw the curtains closed before going to sleep.

His eyes were barely opened, the thin slits between his eyelids were paid off with so much struggle, he wondered why the hell he was trying anyway. He was staring at the cream colour of the sheets he was entangled in and let’s just say that the sight was not entirely worth the battle he had to go through in order to lay his eyes on it.

There was something weird though, aside from the fact that he, most definitely, shouldn’t have been awake for at least a few hours. The feeling of not being completely alone was the thing that kept him still. He knew that if anyone was there, it was Harry. He couldn’t think of a viable reason why he would ever come into Louis’ room, fully knowing that he was asleep (or at least supposed to be sleeping), but whatever it was, he was not going to confront him about it. Definitely not right now because well, he was, of course, curious but what he also was, was unable to form a cohesive sentence because… let's just say that his brain’s business hours didn’t fall on however early it was right now.

So, he laid still and gave up the fight, letting his eyes fall closed. He was not sure whether the whole thing had transpired or he just dreamt it, there was not really a good way to verify it either because he fell back to sleep before he could’ve checked anything for himself.

Just as Harry promised, he wasn’t home when Louis finally got up from the bed. His neck hurt from the way he twisted it in his sleep and he was even afraid that he’s never going to be able to move it again, but yeah, he overreacted. It was this pain that while in the shower, reminded him of the book, Harry brought him just before he fell asleep the night prior.

He made the same mistake of overestimating his abilities and almost fell down the stairs, carrying his phone, the book and three bags filled with clothes downstairs because apparently, it was better to risk breaking his neck instead of going back for the rest of his stuff. He still fully stood behind his decision. “Oh, hello. Oops.” Louis snickered when he nearly walked into Laura, fully buried with stuff he was carrying. He dropped the bags on the living room floor and put his phone and the book behind one of the throw pillows, so he could get to them later without risking the lecture being moved to one of the bookshelves by the housekeeper.

“What’s all this?” She asked, crossing her way to another plant with the intention of watering it from a big, violet can she was carrying.

“Bought some clothes yesterday, gonna stick them in the washer to get rid of the germs and stuff." He shrugged and eyed the piles of cardboard and free merchandise Harry got in the mail. "Don't bother with the boxes, I'll sort them when I figure the washing machine out." He smiled at the woman, and only when she reciprocated the expression, he realized that Laura should be added to the list of things he's going to miss when he's no longer living with Harry.

The woman approached him, took one of the bags and rolled her eyes. "Come on, I'll give you a tutorial. The dryer is the real nightmare." He was just about to oppose, but then he thought that he probably could use help, remembering how much time it took him to sort out his own, basic machine when the old one broke and yeah, he needed all the help he could get.

Like everything in this house, the laundry system was overly complicated as well, which probably shouldn't come as that big of a surprise from what Louis had seen already, especially with the shower that he actually needed a tutorial on. Thankfully, Harry was willing to teach him the roles of all the knobs, well… not all. There was one or two that he didn't know himself but the basic functions and the radio (hardly a basic one), were figured out, and the chances of knocking himself out with a jet had decreased significantly. He was half-expecting to be snapped at when he accidentally drenched them both while in the shower, but Harry took it way better than Louis expected him to. It ended up being the writer who was more annoyed by the spray, and he was the one who caused it. Harry only laughed because he had one of those good moods he got when he didn’t have to work for a day or two.

With the first load of laundry spinning in the machine (it could’ve been easily done in one but Laura insisted that he separates the clothes, which he wouldn’t do on his own), he was dealing with the cardboard, which volume, for some reason hasn’t decreased too much, no matter how much he jumped on it, tore it up and even yelled at it, although he was not expecting that particular approach to work.

Only when he carried all the boxes to the recycling (the numerous trips he had to take were his fall from grace), he got to sit down on the couch and take care of the book he was not really looking forward to reading. 

Laura was already gone, it took some time before she believed that Louis could handle the rest of the laundry on his own, but after all, he managed to get rid of her. Maybe 'get rid of' wasn't too good of a term to use because the woman was never in his way, well… she was when she told him to get off the couch while she hoovered it, but it's not her fault that Louis pretty much grew his roots around the pillows.

The time has come, and he retrieved the book from behind one of the pillows, the one that hasn't laid where it was supposed to lay, and Louis scolded himself for even thinking in categories where a pillow had its place. Who the fuck did he turn into?

The book looked like it had been used by several people, at least. The soft cover was there for dubious decoration because it, sure as fuck, wasn't doing its job of protecting the insides well enough. The thicker cardboard was frayed at the corners, torn and wrinkled from use. He hadn't even opened the thing, but he could already see that the glue let go in some places and the whole thing was soaked with something, more than once from what it appeared.

After he dared to open the book, scared that it will dematerialize into nothing as soon as he does that, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the insides. Yeah, the pages were wrinkled and stained from liquid damage, but there was nothing that could ever give him any insight into Harry's brain and after all, this was exactly what he was after. Honestly, he was desperate from the moment he heard that the subject wanted nothing to do with his book this state only progressed as the days went by, a week of nothing and he’d go mad.

He was turning the pages, hanging his eyes on the shorter poems from time to time and yeah… he did not like them, albeit that was already put very nicely. All there was, was ranting of some sad, old man that instead of doing anything about his misery, dwelled in it because sitting in the darkness with a bottle in his hand seemed like an easier way out. He didn’t stop though, going through the frayed pages until he stumbled upon a poem with handwritten snippets pencilled in between some of the lines.

For the life of his, he couldn't work out the handwriting, but he knew it was Harry's, immediately reminding himself of that note the boy left for him that one time, at the start of their relationship. The lettering in the book was way messier, too sloppy to read even but the similarities were obvious enough, Harry couldn’t deny that he wrote it if he tried. So, instead of wasting time trying to decipher the mess, he took careful pictures of the page because as much as he couldn’t read Harry’s notes, he felt that he just struck a goldmine in his search for material, it felt _major._

Because really, who takes notes in poetry books? Harry Styles, apparently. But then, he hadn't written any around previous poems, so this had to mean something, right? Focusing on the notes wasn't going to yield him anything so, instead, he read through the poem for the first time, and he didn't know if he was biased because Harry apparently liked it and he seemed to have an idea about poetry or he actually enjoyed it more than the previous ones.

He passed the numerous, short lines twice and on the second go, he focused on the part, shakily underlined with a blunt pencil.

_“_ _nobody_

_wanted_

_anybody_

_to be_

_strong and_

_beautiful_

_like that,_

_that_

_others would never_

_allow it,”_

It was only a short part of the whole thing, but it was important enough for Harry to take his time and mark it, so there had to be more to those words. Well… he was not going to think about this now, he still had plenty to go through, and he secretly hoped that his search would give him more of what he was looking for from the start.

He fanned the book, searching for more marks that were not meant to be there, and he found nothing of substance. The second page revealed itself to Louis, the book falling open in the spot where the glue had split the spine open, which only indicated that Styles revisited the particular poem more often than the rest.

At first glance, there was no sign of pencil or anything other than what was intended by the author to be on the page, but Louis still decided to take a photo and the light of his flash that bounced off the cream surface, uncovered marks that somebody, presumably Harry, was trying to get rid of and well… he did good enough of a job, but he couldn't have predicted that his roommate was going to snap a pic of the page.

Just as in the first poem, there was a part underlined with the pencil that maybe wasn’t necessarily _there_ anymore, but the indentation was detectable when Lou dragged his fingertips over the lines. This time it was a bigger snippet, nearing half of the entire poem that somehow appealed to Styles so much, he decided to return to it countless times, so much it made the spine split. 

Louis didn't get the chance to fall deep enough into the book when the door flung open, and Harry stumbled inside, murmuring profanity as he tripped over the threshold. "Thought you said you'd be late." He spoke before the owner even entered the living room. It wasn't early, not at all but it was not close to being late either, especially that when Harry said he'd be late, he usually came home well after midnight.

He didn't get anything in response even though the taller man joined him on the couch, just like he always did. He hasn't acknowledged Louis with as little as a nod and to be completely honest, it made him feel awful for some reason. There was always a nod upon their first meeting of the day, not now though, and it felt _wrong_.

The regret of not putting any music on struck after just a few seconds of sitting in Styles' company. Not even by the start of their relationship he felt so uncomfortable around the man but now, that Harry was just sitting there, arms crossed on his broad chest… the feeling of being a burden sky-rocketed. For a quick second, he debated whether he should just get up and give the man some space, he seemed to be in need of, but before he could decide, Harry stirred and opened his mouth, only to close it when he wasn't able to find words he wanted to say.

On the other hand, the house had like three thousand rooms in which he could've possibly hidden away if he wanted to be alone, but he didn't. He came and sat on the couch, fully aware that he was not going to be alone there.

Aggressive rumbling in his stomach only made Louis realize that he hasn't eaten anything that day. The frozen pizza he had last night obviously already digested, and he was pretty much running on reserve right now. He couldn't believe that laundry and this stupid poetry book occupied him so much, he even forgot about eating. "Have you eaten?" He dared to ask when he got off the couch, Harry's eyes still stuck to the screen of TV which wasn't even on.

The taller guy scoffed and threw his head back, rubbing the bridge of his nose before he spoke. “No, I have not.” He shook his head and closed his eyes because looking at the ceiling apparently wasn’t nearly as eventful as staring at the black of the screen.

They kind of neglected the whole keeping the kitchen stocked thing, especially considering that they had only two days left before the tour starts. With barely any options, Louis decided to heat up the takeout Harry brought from his friend's restaurant, so they had something to eat other than sandwiches. With two plates and forks in his hands, he headed back to the living room where he found the boy in the same exact position he left him in. “Chicken or salmon?” A question startled Styles just a bit even though Louis wasn’t particularly stealthy as he crossed the living room. 

Harry seemed to be contemplating for way too long that it would be appropriate, considering how mundane the decision was. “Which one do you want?” He finally graced his roommate with a look, it was _something,_ even if his eyes were barely opened.

Then it was Louis who took too much time to make a decision. He glanced from one plate or another. “Chicken?” He sat in his corner, the plates still in his hands, burning his fingers just a tad.

“I want chicken too.” Styles answered with a pout, looking like a fussy toddler. Lou only rolled his eyes at the revelation.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” He whispered under his breath, trying to hide his amusement and reached the plate with chicken to Harry who smiled for the first time this day, in Louis’ presence at least. But the boy finally took the plate with fish, leaving the other one for his friend. “What’s with you today?”

No answer this time either. They both dug into their dishes, and Louis was so famished that he managed to get through his whole thing before Harry could finish his salmon, let alone the vegetables. Seeing that he was not going to be spoken to, he carried his plate to the dishwasher, downed a glass of water and headed to the laundry room to retrieve his washed things.

Folding clothes was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was still not even packed so, leaving everything for later didn't really sound like a reasonable thing to do. That's why, fighting every cell of his body telling him 'no', he carried a huge basket full of clothes into the living room that seemed to be empty when he entered.

When it turned out that it wasn't and Harry just laid on the couch, it was too late for Louis to back off. "Why were you in my room in the morning?" The question slipped before he could even think about whether it was a good idea to ask. He was already folding his clothes when Harry completely stilled even though he's been bouncing his leg just before Tomlinson spoke.

It's not like he expected an answer, the host seemed to be very anti-Louis that evening, but it would be nice to get some explanation _._ Although, his reaction was enough to indicate that it wasn't a dream and he did, in fact, enter Louis' room in the morning. 

A deep sigh pushed out of Harry’s lungs before he sat again and started helping with folding the laundry. “Busted.” The thin line formed with his lips was a dead giveaway that he was uncomfortable but hey, so should be Louis when a stranger comes to his room while he sleeps. “It wasn’t anything creepy, I swear.” His deep chuckle took at least a fraction of the heavy atmosphere away.

“So, you’re telling me…” Tomlinson cut his response as he stuck the collar of a t-shirt between his chin and chest to aid himself in the process. “that you weren’t going to smother me with a pillow because you’re tired of me?” He threw a careful gaze at Styles to assess if the man had truly relaxed or just acted like he did.

"Should've done that weeks ago." The singer sneered, and even though the look he threw at Louis was borderline annoyed (or at least Harry tried to come off as such), Louis was happy that he was acknowledged. "Wanted to get my book back." He stuck his bottom lip between his teeth as he skillfully rolled Louis’ underwear in a way that would probably take up less space in his suitcase. 

Lou hasn't questioned the way his friend folded his clothes because well… if anybody was accustomed to living from a suitcase, it was Harry Styles. "I know I'm a fast reader, but you might have overestimated my abilities." He tried to laugh it off even though he already saw the biggest opportunity he got since he met the guy, slipping through his fingers. "Won't you let me read it first?"

Harry huffed a breath and abandoned a pair of jeans he was struggling to fold in a way, that would shrink the bundle just a little. He leaned to his backpack, the one he usually carried with him and opened it, retrieving a book and handing it to Louis. It was the same book, just a new one and Louis had to bite his tongue not to express his disappointment because damn, it was never about the book alone. “Can I get mine now?” He smiled shyly; his fingers barely squeezed around the book. “It’s kind of important and I was scared it would get ruined… sorry.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Louis took the new copy and surprised himself with how unphased he seemed even though all he did, was blaming himself for slacking with studying the book. He should’ve put his hands on it the moment he got it but then, how was he supposed to know? “It’s behind the pillow. I was just about to start reading when you got back.” He wasn’t sure why he lied. Well, _technically,_ he hasn't lied. But he implied that he hasn't opened the book and that was, of course, not the truth.

He couldn't help but think how many erased pencil marks were there for him to discover and even though the two pages he got out of the book were huge when you take his overall progress into account, his greed still manifested deep inside of him. "Thank you, I'll return it as soon as I'm done with it." Louis faked a smile and dropped the new book onto the coffee table, somewhere in between piles of folded clothing.

“Oh, you can keep it. I don’t need two, do I?” 

“I guess you don’t.” Tomlinson answered and, in his head, already situated the book on that one shelf of his bookcase he couldn’t reach. It’s not like he was really interested with some old drunk’s bullshit. “Thanks.”

With two of them, they’ve finished the laundry relatively quickly. An activity so easy seemed to tire both of them quite bad, so Harry suggested that they’ve deserved a drink or two and Louis, being Louis, was not the one to oppose such propositions. 

Harry took upon himself mixing them something just a little more complex than their usual whiskey and with two crystal glasses, approached the couch not too long after he disappeared behind a wall. "We're going out tomorrow. I mean… the band and a few other people. You're invited, of course." He announced after they sat in silence for a quick while.

Louis was pulled away from where his thoughts wandered. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go out with Harry's friends. No, he was sure… he didn't. On the other hand, he was going to meet them on tour, one way or another, and maybe it was worth to tag along if only to observe how Styles acts in social situations? As of now, he only saw him interact with Laura, and they had this weird, almost mother-son kind of bond, so it didn't tell him too much about the boy. “Why?” The question slipped out without his permission, the look on the singer’s face clearly showed that he was taken aback by Lou’s reaction, and it was fair because the question was straight-up stupid. _Okay,_ Louis was tired.

“ _Why?_ ” The brunette repeated after Louis and scrunched his nose just a bit before he stopped tracing the rim of his glass with a finger and took a sip of his fruity, chilled beverage. “So you get to meet the people, relax a bit before we go on the road.” He shrugged, not knowing what else was there to say. 

His arguments made sense, it’s not like the writer necessarily needed them, was quite self-explanatory. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to finally start working on the book and considering how much of a hassle it had already been, even if he hadn't properly started yet, he's going to need all the material he could get. Who knew, maybe he'll get to witness drunk Harry around people? He saw him already, but they were on their own, and he was curious if he was just as chatty with others as he was with him. "Sure, why not?"

-

They’ve entered a bar that had Louis quite shocked with how _normal_ it looked. With the panelled walls, warm lighting and mismatched furniture, he could easily imagine college students hanging out in there during the weekends, drinking cheap pints of watered-down lager. It was a middle of the week, so there weren’t too many people around, most of which restricted to a certain area, bordered from the rest of the bar in such a subtle way that inattentive bargoer could easily not notice that people were segregated at all. The biggest giveaway was a big man, sitting on one of the chairs, scanning the premises with his careful, eagle gaze. 

He found himself swallowing around the lump in his throat when the grey eyes of a security guard scrutinized his face. If he already felt uncomfortable with the attention he was given by pretty much everybody present, as soon he stepped over the threshold with Harry Styles on his side, the bouncer only further intimidated him. He kind of regretted not taking an Uber and letting Harry drive him since he was not planning to drink that night. 

It was stupid because, in normal circumstances, he felt relatively comfortable around Styles. Normal circumstances meant the serenity of the house they've been sharing for the past month. When there were just the two of them, hanging out on the couch, Louis sometimes even forgot who he was dealing with. With people around, keeping an eye on their every move, the situation looked entirely different, and even Harry started intimidating him.

Louis did not feel like coming there either way, but then, he forced himself to, and he was about to, at least, _try_ to make a good impression. He spent maybe a skosh too long in front of a mirror, perfecting the staple look that made him appear sloppy and kind of rugged, just as if he barely rolled out of bed. As he was checking his reflection in the mirror, he was actually surprised how good he managed to make himself present. Well, up until Harry Styles stepped into his bedroom, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slouched, head dropped, and even like that, he looked around ten thousand times better than Louis did. What did not make the matters any better was the fact, that he was pretty sure that Styles actually just got out of bed after his nap.

Well, that was the life Louis had to get used to, as long as him and Harry were going to appear in each other’s company which, in the grand scheme of things, was not that long at all. At least he knew that he probably wasn't the only one who felt like shit, seeing himself being humiliated by effortless attractiveness of a man who hadn't even bothered getting rid of his patchy facial hair before they left the house.

Thankfully, Harry felt obliged to introduce the bane of his existence to his friends from the band and some new faces since this was a sort of introductory hang out to get familiar with people who just joined his team. The fact that he wasn’t the only outsider in there really made Louis feel better, even if it probably shouldn't. His confidence quickly vanished when everybody started mingling with each other, and nobody seemed to be interested in him. So, he was left alone relatively quickly, sitting in the corner of a leather couch just observing and sipping his beer. It was exactly what he planned on doing, though he'd lie if he had said that he wasn't feeling like an intruder, unwanted; he regretted ever consenting to that outing, he really did.

He had two, brief conversations with some members of Harry’s team and considering that only those two people even acknowledged his presence, he made sure to remember their names and paid attention to what they were saying. He was occupied for maybe twenty minutes in total before he gave up and just left the designated area, feeling suffocated with the confinement of their ‘super exclusive’ space that was everything but Louis. 

He only realized that Harry left when he came back with a tall blonde, clinging to his left side. To be quite honest, he couldn’t give any less fucks even if he tried. He uninvited himself from that party a while ago and now just sat at the bar with the normal, unimportant people, gulping down his pints in quick succession. It was more his place than whatever the fuck was happening in the restricted area; a bunch of people thinking they’re hiding their conceit under the cover of an ordinary bar and cheap-ish drinks they were downing the moment a bartender brought them.

To say that he was disappointed would’ve been a tremendous understatement. See, he didn’t even recognize Harry he was still keeping a close eye on because, well… if he wasn’t there to relax, he could at least gather some material in between his beers, right? 

It was not once, not twice, that the boy growled between his teeth how much he couldn’t stand the snubs he had to deal with on the daily, meaning mostly his management team. And now? He was chirping around all of those dudes with his girlfriend still stuck to him, looking more like an accessory than anything else; he wasn’t even sure if the model said a word since she arrived. 

He was seriously contemplating getting himself an Uber and just going back home after his observations resulted in the conclusion that Harry Styles was absolutely two-faced when it came to socializing. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he left his key card at home and he wasn't exactly sure how he could get inside without one. Thankfully, God took pity on him and sent an angel in a body of Gale, the only person who seemed not to be blind to Louis' existence.

The man was slightly shorter than Louis was, his skin was golden tan, eyes bluer than Louis had ever seen and his hair was dyed blonde, gathered in a bun which made the writer sigh with frustration but was not enough to discredit the boy in his eyes, he was quite attractive otherwise. He kind of looked like everybody in LA did, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and for sure, he wasn't going to push away the only thing that could make the evening less boring. 

They’ve spent together at least two hours, making fun of the ‘exclusive’ party that Gale had no idea Louis was technically a part of. He didn’t think it was his business to stop his companion from snapping a few pics of Harry and his date; the boy tried to explain Louis what it was exactly that the girl was famous for, but the information passed through his ears with a draft that picked up when the doors were opened.

From what the boy was saying, he was a struggling actor and if that wasn’t the most LA thing Louis could’ve heard… Oh boy. But he liked him, his plainness felt refreshing to the man who was exhausted with dealing with complex personalities of people he was meeting lately; well, it was only Harry, but that boy was a handful already. 

The topics of their chats were forgotten as soon as they moved on to the next one and Louis was pretty sure he went overboard with the pints he was downing. His sight went woozy as he focused on Gale and his overly white smile; for a moment or two, he completely forgot that Styles was even there. 

He was surprised with himself when he regained consciousness somewhere in the middle of a heated kiss, his hand resting on Gale’s thigh, pulling him closer. It was way too obnoxious, and it wasn't at all Louis, he was far from the PDA posterchild, really. When the boy finally unglued his soft lips from Lou's tough ones, he told him not to go anywhere and left him at the stool while he went to the bathroom.

Despite the promise he made to stay put, he kind of wanted to follow Gale to have some privacy with the boy since he felt that this time, he got luckier than during his first, and last at the same time outing not that long ago. The alcohol he poured into himself did not help his raging hormones, and yeah, he decided to go through with the plan. He slipped his bum off the barstool, downed the rest of his whichever pint and started dragging his feet across the poorly-kept hardwood floor.

His intuition turned out to be still somewhat functional when he found the boy, pretty much anticipating him in the bathroom. He could not believe that he was actually doing what he was doing, the thing being making out in a gross bathroom stall with some random LA twink whose hands felt heavenly on his body as he groped him through his jeans. He felt like he was finally having a taste of the college experience he missed out on when he decided not to pursue academic education, and it felt both filthy and hot.

He was moaning in the blonde’s mouth as he was being palmed with a petite hand that somewhere along the way slipped through his belt that was there more as a decoration than actually doing its job. His hand entangled in the blonde strands, and he was quite embarrassed to admit that maybe, just maybe, those stupid buns weren't as awful as he thought they were (they were sure fun to pull at).

"Let's go to mine." The boy whispered into Louis' ear as he was fondling his earlobe with his thin lips, and it barely took any time before he started nodding in response. 

His plans of getting laid went to shit as soon as they left the bathroom and Louis quite literally tripped over Harry’s legs. The tallest one stood there with arms crossed, leaning on the wall as if he was waiting for the two to leave, well… at least the half of the two. “Where do you think you’re going?” Styles murmured with an amused smirk on his lips, his eyes skipping to blonde’s face for maybe a fraction of a second, he was clearly not interested in him.

The boy Louis was with, stood dumbfounded, mouth agape when he realized that Louis and Harry knew each other. It was quite funny how his skin went borderline green in a reaction to a confrontation he was barely a part of after countless snarky comments he threw at Harry when he couldn't have heard them. He surely wasn't as courageous anymore, and it wasn't even _that_ surprising since Styles undoubtedly _tried_ to look as intimidating as he could.

"Gale's." Tomlinson pressed his lips together as he struggled to stand upright. In the last flash of consciousness, he tried to stabilize himself by wrapping a hand around blonde's waist, but the boy kept too big of a distance between them for that strategy to work. To both his irritation and great relief, his roommate wrapped his big palm around his arm and kept him from stumbling. "Let me go." He demanded, looking like he was going to stomp his foot to get what he wants.

The grasp only tightened when Styles completely brushed over his protest. “And how exactly you plan to get home?” 

Louis dreamt of punching that stupid smirk off Harry's face at the moment. "Don't see how this is your problem." He mumbled, throwing thunders with his gaze.

Long story short, nobody’s dick got sucked that night. At least not Louis’ and if Harry’s attitude wasn’t enough to piss him off, him scaring Gale off was the last straw. The new friend hadn't dared to oppose when Harry Styles himself, told him to beat it.

They left the bar right after the encounter, even if most of the people were still there, even Harry’s girlfriend mingled with the white collars Harry claimed to hate so much even if that proved to be a bunch of bullshit over the course of the evening.

It was stupid, and Louis knew that it was, he was acting like a pissed off toddler when he was manhandled into the car, his stubbornness leading to Harry buckling him up since he refused to do that. They haven't talked for the entirety of the ride, and the complete silence was enough to put the drunk writer to sleep before he even realized he was dozing off.

The next thing Louis knew, he was escorted up the stairs, hung on Harry’s shoulder for support but deep down, he was aware that there was not a lot of his own force put into the climb and he was practically being carried. He didn’t know if his friend deliberately made the decision to position him like that, but he was thankful nonetheless. It was less humiliating that way. He knew the man could’ve easily cradled him in his arms if he only wanted to and Tomlinson’s delicate confidence probably wouldn’t survive that. 

“Go on then…” Louis’ limp body was pushed onto his unmade bed, Harry only taking his shoes off before covering him up.

“I hate you.” The smaller man mumbled against the pillow.

Despite this mostly unfounded hostility, Harry sat down at the edge of the bed and stared at his companion. “Get in line.” He huffed and observed Louis’ fluttering eyelashes, thinking that he’s already asleep.

“Cockblock.” Louis proved that theory wrong as he threw another insult at the brunette who couldn’t have been any less bothered.

“With all due respect but I strongly doubt you’d be any good tonight.” He laughed and pushed the hair out of Tomlinson’s face. “You need anything? I’ll bring you some water, are you nauseous?” Lou’s head shook lazily in response.

He felt silly, it was quite a theme this evening, really. He was mad at Harry, and he wasn't even sure if that was for standing in the way of some action that his body craved or just in general, not living up to expectations he set for him in his head. He was pretty confident that it was the latter and was Styles really to blame? It was him who created this weird fantasy even though he had barely any grounds to base it on. 

“I’m still mad at you.” Louis sighed as soon as the mattress dipped beside him, a dead giveaway that Harry was back with the water.

The boy chuckled deeply, and the writer couldn't understand what was so funny. "Fair enough, I am sorry." He insincerely apologized for ruining Louis' plans, not even aware that it's not the thing the man was mad about. "Can I leave you and not be worried that you’ll escape to chase your lost lover?” He murmured in the darkness to a man, who was falling in and out of sleep as they were talking or… Harry was, really.

He was somewhere on the middle ground between sleep and reality when he nuzzled his face against Styles’ thigh. “Harry?” He looked for the face in the darkness because apparently his fingers grazing Harry’s jeans weren’t enough of a giveaway that he was still here.

“Yeah?”

Louis took a deep breath and looked up; his eyes finally found Harry’s when he got accustomed to the darkness. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, his nose brushing against the rough material stretched over Styles’ thighs.

There was a long stretch of silence in which sober Louis would've probably fled to another country in embarrassment, but the thing was… sober Louis was not there. The drunk one only stared with his lips parted, living in delusion that he’s going to put them to use, his head pressed to the mattress. "I'd rather you not." Harry concluded his response with a deep sigh, and Louis was somewhat impressed with the amount of air the man was able to fit into his lungs.

“Okay.” He only managed to push out before he fully dove into the dream realm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm uploading early but I got so excited about the comments and positive response that I decided to drop something sooner than expected. Thank you for all your support, it means the world do me.  
>  Enjoy and keep tight :)

The demons of yesterday’s humiliation caught up with Louis faster than he had a chance to open his eyes. He grunted into his pillow at the ache throbbing in his skull, heightened by the memory of what he's done the night prior. He struggled his eyes open, and as soon as he was blinded with bright beams, it all became too much. His stomach wrenched violently, and before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was clasping his hands around the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the absolute disgust he felt with himself, perhaps both. 

The tears started slipping down his face when his body convulsed, and even though he doubted there was anything else he could throw up, another spasm quickly proved him wrong. It took a while for his body to realise that it cannot simply puke out memories, but when it finally did, he swirled some mouthwash and got back into the bed with a fully realised plan to let himself die and rot there. He was very positively surprised when he noticed a new bottle of water, replacing the one he drank when he fell out of sleep during the rough night, tormented by his bad decisions. The water was still somewhat chilly, and while the fact probably should relieve him, it only made his stomach twist in a knot again because he really fucking hoped Styles wouldn't be home.

See, Louis was never a person to fully submit to alcohol, and while he tended to get sluggish, he usually had at least _some_ control over his brain. Apparently, his body decided to pull a trick on him in the least suitable moment. What a funny little prank, let’s make a complete fool out of Louis in front of a man he was bound to spend the rest of the year with. Ha, ha, ha!

At least one thing hasn't changed, and it absolutely wasn't a good observation either. Louis was still not the one to really blackout and forget things he did while sloshed. God knows he’d do anything to forget yesterday’s events because, to be completely honest, he regretted all of it. If anything, contrary to his previous attitude, he was glad that Harry stopped him from going with the guy he met at the bar. Although, if he had, he’d have to catch an incurable venereal disease to match the disaster that actually transpired.

Well, he was not going to have an opportunity to thank Styles for keeping him in check because he was in the process of dying, fully buried in the bedding, trying to hide from the judgemental gaze of a pigeon that hung out outside his window. He hasn't even left the bedroom, nor he ever intended to do that, but it still felt like everybody already knew about his performance, and this was going to be his only legacy when he finally passes away in Harry's LA mansion. 

In fear that his head would explode, he decided not to turn the TV on and just laid on the mattress, curled up in a ball of absolute regret. The clock showed him that it was three in the afternoon and he _knew_ he should just get up because he had a lot of things to sort before the night approaches but as much as he tried to get himself to leave the shelter of the bed, the only place he was safe from Harry, his muscles just refused to obey him.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to look Styles in the eyes, the boy the only witness of his utter indignity. No, that was a lie. He was sure, sure that he’s going to descend into hell the moment he feels those earthy green eyes on him. He was done for, already contemplating what he was going to tell Jeff when he resigns from the position right before he jumps off a bridge to his demise because really, what else he was supposed to do after what he’s done?

The contemplation of his possible suicide methods was interrupted by a subtle creak of the door that made the blood freeze in his veins. There was only one possible visitor, and that person was also the reason why he suddenly felt like dying. His first instinct was to pretend that he's sleeping, but that strategy was quite pointless, considering that he couldn't drag it out forever, could he? So, he opened his eyes, face still pressed tightly to the pillow, buried in the sheets in a way that only left his dead eyes visible. 

The grin on Harry’s face was really inappropriate in juxtaposition with how Louis looked and felt. He just seemed too amused with his suffering, and if Louis said he wasn't just a tad relieved, he'd be lying. He expected their first interaction after last night's fiasco to be way more awkward than it was. But from what he was seeing, it seemed that he was the only one uncomfortable, fair enough.

Louis hasn't dared to speak a word. He wasn't even sure if his body would let him, his tongue clamped between his teeth, probably for his own good. In the heat of the moment, he decided not to bring up the topic because really, what good could it ever do? He'd only apologise and make an even bigger fool out of himself. Thankfully, he also remembered how wasted he was last night, drunk enough that his partial amnesia could be somewhat justified.

Harry, with an insulting grin plastered to his face, walked into the room as soon as he noticed that Louis was no longer asleep. He carried a plate in his one hand, and two bottles in the other, caps tucked between his spread fingers, accompanied by a phone, Louis quickly recognised his boring case. "Thought I've heard your wailing." Styles managed to place everything he brought on the cluttered nightstand, knocking off the empty bottle to the floor. "Get some food in you, it should make you feel better." He nodded at the breakfast, but Louis was too busy with gulping down cold Gatorade to pay attention to the food. 

When the bottle was empty, the writer finally brushed his eyes over the plate and almost rolled his eyes at the sight. “Avocado on toast? How very LA of you.” He sighed and moved on to the bottle of water because he still somehow felt so thirsty. “Dunno if I’ll manage to keep it down though.” He looked at the plate with obnoxiously pretentious breakfast that was served to him. He couldn’t be mad, really. So far, Harry’s hospitality exceeded all the expectations Louis had for the... morning?

“Should’ve guessed you’re more of full English kind of guy.” The man sat on the edge of the bed, in the same exact place and manner he sat in when Louis asked the question he decided not to even bring up, the threat of throwing up very serious in the back of his head. "Just try to eat, if you throw up, you throw up." He shrugged and observed his friend who eyed the toast before he took the first bite. He chewed in surprise because no matter how much he didn't like to admit that, it was really quite good. To be fair, the avocado part didn't taste like much at all, and it was the perfectly cooked egg that stole the show.

Louis felt like he should thank God for Harry and the way he graciously chose not to bring up his undeniable humiliation. To be fair, Styles most of the times was the epitome of good manners, so maybe the writer’s panic was exaggerated. Still, whether the brunette chose to mention the issue or not, he still felt like an idiot in front of him because there was no way he hasn’t remembered, he was just considerate enough to spare Louis the embarrassment. 

Not only was he possessed by some unfounded confidence that for some reason made him think that Harry Styles would ever want to kiss the drunken mess he was at the moment, but he was also turned down and while that was very much expected, it still kind of stung Louis' fragile self-esteem. 

“Never would’ve thought you’re so lightweight.” Styles teased as he watched Louis go through the first toast. So far, so good, the food managed to stay down.

Tomlinson furrowed his brows and thumbed the liquid yolk that slipped from the corner of his lips. He was happy he couldn't see himself, but then, he was fully aware he looked atrocious, so it's not like him not being able to see his dishevelled hair, blood-shot eyes and crumbs scattered on his bare chest made the matters any better. Other people could still see him after all, other people being, in this case, a boy with a high position on _People_ ’s list of the sexiest men alive. "No, no, no…" He shook his head and even his finger, just for good measure. "I drank like a river of beer, AND I'm pretty sure there were some shots by the end." He bit his cheek when he thought that maybe he shouldn’t flaunt his impeccable memory as much if he wanted to act oblivious about the rest of the night. 

“Yep, ten shots. Saw them on the bill.” Harry shook his head in amusement. “Even divided between the two of you, I mean… I’m surprised you’re alive.”

The emptied plate found its way back on the nightstand and Louis laid back, thinking that any sudden movement wasn’t going to up his chances of keeping the breakfast in his stomach. He cringed at the thought of his last night's companion. "You're looking at me, and you dare to assume I'm alive?" He huffed a breath. "Gonna repay you for the drinks, sorry about that.” He said with his eyes closed, feeling even dumber as if Harry had to struggle to pay for the drinks he had.

"I haven't paid." The man brushed his hair with spread fingers. "I made Jeff do it." He smirked, and he was back to being Harry, he was accustomed to.

“In that case…” He took a pause, trying to remember when exactly Azoff arrived at the bar but he came up blank. As far as he knew, he wasn't even invited since him, and Harry had a bit of a quarrel the day prior, but then, Jeff didn't strike Louis as a guy who was above crashing a party. "I wish I ordered more." He rubbed his temples to ease the blaring pain, but that hasn't worked at all. Even Harry's booming laughter was not enough to distract him.

Heavens seemed to take pity on Louis and the throbbing headache that tormented him throughout the day finally started to loosen its grip even if just a bit. It might have been countless Tylenol doses he swallowed ever since he woke up, but he was more convinced that it was God. It would make sense that the almighty decided he was miserable enough without the pain. 

He was still nauseous, and his moral hangover was probably responsible for that, but he was significantly better now, sitting in a hot tub, listening to some soft music because let’s be real, his usual genre wouldn’t do any good for his head. He wasn’t even sure how much time he spent alternating between the pool and the tub. However long it was, the sun reunited with the horizon a while ago and he was embraced by sweet, sweet darkness that in combination with the music, did wonders for his headache.

“It’s been four hours, another one?” Harry asked, his head peeking from behind the door, shaking the painkiller bottle frantically, the rattle of the pills making Louis cringe. 

Harry took upon himself dosing Louis' Tylenol when he noticed that the writer did not take the recommendations seriously enough. It was quite comical how motherly he had become, pretty much babysitting his friend through the hangover which he definitely deserved in the first place. It was only his help that let Tomlinson relax in the evening because there was no way he would've sorted his things out on his own. Now, with all of the stuff packed, he could properly say goodbye to the jacuzzi that was one of three things he was going to miss the most.

“I think a drink will do me better than those pills.” He pulled himself up in his seat and rubbed his tired eyes with balled fists.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, giving Louis a careful look, eyes squinting just a bit. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked after a while of contemplation; Louis nodded. “Okay, I’ll get you something, just one though.”

Louis was left alone in the tub, relaxing with the bubbles trailing against his body. He was tired, really. Probably should’ve been in bed already but then, he’s going to have more than enough time to sleep on the plane to Sweden, where the European leg of the tour was set to kick off. 

Now that he thought about it, he was going to miss LA. Although it was probably the fact that he’s going to miss Harry’s mansion more than the city itself because let’s be real, he barely left the damn building after all. His reluctancy to leave California might have been a disguise for his absolute dread of taking off because doing that only means he’ll have to start actually working and that thought was just terrifying the living shit out of him.

The bubbling of the water and his closed eyes prevented Louis from noticing that Harry got back to the garden. He snuck behind and hovered over him just a bit before he entangled his spread fingers in Louis' reddish hair and pulled on the strands. Louis subconsciously let his head fall back and succumbed to the gentle pleasure before he completely stilled when he realised what was happening, surprised by this unexpected display of affection. "You should've gotten that haircut when Danny was here." He chuckled and started gathering Louis' hair on top of his head, securing it with one of the scrunchies that were pretty much all over the place. 

Louis was too busy enjoying Harry's short fingernails scratching his scalp to oppose, even after he realised what the boy had done. “Guess now it’s your time for the these.” The taller man brushed his short hair with spread fingers and without a word, stepped into the tub, taking the space next to his friend.

Tomlinson wasn’t even sure whether Harry was in his trunks the entire time or he just magically changed into them. He swallowed thickly at the sight of Styles’ chiselled stomach but thankfully, stopped the sigh that built up in his gut. It was not that he was horny, hell no. After last night, he was sure he’s never going to let himself think about the brunette in that category. He was still just a little bitter at the unfairness of life that let the singer look like that when his body resembled one of a forty-year-old father that hasn’t seen a gym in his life.

Of course, Harry’s impressive silhouette was paid off with countless hours spent on workouts and other kinds of physical activity, he was also on somewhat strict diet… so yeah, he earned it, but neither of those facts stopped Louis from being just a little bit salty. 

The drink that was prepared for him, finally found its way into his hand that trembled just a bit for whatever reason. He took a careful sip; he learned the hard way that he shouldn't trust Harry's drinks because well… he tended to up the booze quite a bit, at least usually. He furrowed his eyebrows when the liquid spilt all over his tongue, and he barely detected anything at all. "You thought you could fool me with that weak ass drink?" He squinted his eyes to show his irritation, his gaze even sharper when he remembered that stupid scrunchie on his head. 

"If that makes you feel any better, mine's just juice." He smiled with the rim of his glass still tucked between his plump lips. "Sorry?" The grin on his face told everything about the sincerity of the apology. He couldn't care less about the thunders Louis was throwing at him in silence. 

“It doesn’t make me feel any better, no.” He snarled at the man and drank the caricature of a drink quicker than he would’ve normally. “That did not count, I’m gonna pour myself a real one now.” He huffed and got up from his seat, drying himself with a towel before he started walking towards the bar, taking a shot before he got back with a drink that was significantly stronger than the one Styles made for him.

Harry hasn’t commented on the high alcohol content, clearly detectable by the stench hovering over the glass Louis had clasped in his hand. He just sipped his juice, relishing every drop of it as if he was drinking the finest wine in the world, not cranberry juice.

“I’m guessing you’re not the early mornings type of guy?” Styles yawned, the fist he pressed against his mouth not preventing the yawn from spreading. “The flight is at six. I have my alarm set at two, should I wake you up?” 

Louis physically cringed at the thought of waking up at two in the morning. “How is it even morning?” He argued. “I think I won’t even bother going to sleep.”

The wind picked up, and a shiver travelled down Louis' spine, raising goosebumps on his pale skin that hasn’t gotten the chance to pick up any tan since the man was serious about his sun protection and barely left the house before dawn. 

“What you’re gonna do then? Before we go to the airport?” 

"Say goodbye to the couch, probably." Lou sighed, already missing the softness of the furniture he took the most liking in. Of course, he had no idea how it was to touch a cloud, but, in his mind, it was very comparable to the softness of the pillows on Harry's sofa. 

“You’ve got to get yourself one of those with that book money.” Styles nudged his friend in the ribs, the unexpected collision pulling a hiss from between Lou’s teeth.

"Yeah, now I know what I will do with my minus million dollars." He sighed. "If heaven's real, I will get that couch, right after I take a bullet to my brain." He dreamed, sipping the drink that burned his throat on its way down.

“Always so dramatic.” Styles rolled his eyes and put his empty glass on the small table next to the tub.

“Realistic.” Louis pressed his lips in a tight line as he let his thoughts be fully flooded by the doom that was hovering above his head and the entire career. It was a while since he actually sunk deep into his despair and considering the events of the last twenty-four hours, it was a great time to do that. He let his head fall back and released a deep sigh into the chilly breeze. 

The silence dragged for a bit, comfortable enough for neither of them to feel the need to fill it with pointless babbling. Harry relaxed in the tub, his long arms spread along the rim of jacuzzi, his fingers brushing over Louis' shoulders and if Louis' body hasn't reacted (he was pretty sure that it hasn't), it was only because he was too busy pitying himself and dreading the uncertainty of his future. "You could always write that I'm the nicest person you've ever met, and I'm oh-so-handsome." Harry joked, wiggling his toes while he held his feet just below the surface of the water, whichever physics phenomenon he must’ve learned of at school, shrunk the image of his feet to comical sizes.

While all the things he said were true, there was nothing his fans wouldn’t already know. “You forgot about modest… so fucking humble.” Louis scoffed and downed the rest of the drink he’s been working on for a while now, passing the glass to Styles so he could set it next to his.

It was almost three in the morning when they've loaded their stuff into the cab Harry ordered. Somehow, both of them ended up spending the night on that couch, watching some really stupid TV shows. Contrary to Lou’s previous claims, they both managed to fall asleep before either realised that they did. Their naps weren't long, coming up to little over an hour but they sure were powerful, Harry's especially. Surprisingly it was Louis who woke up first, startled away from his sleep with the sound of the alarm Styles thankfully set for himself.

Now, they were on their way to the airport and Harry was bouncing his leg in nerves, panicking that they were going to miss their flight even though Louis was sure they were going to be way too early but whatever, maybe superstars had some different procedures or something. He couldn’t have known. 

The mystery of Harry’s lack of patience was uncovered as soon as they’ve arrived at LAX and Louis wasn’t going to lie, he was pissed off. It looked like his companion decided to organise a little farewell with his girlfriend at the airport, and while okay, that was understandable, he didn’t know why Harry felt like they needed him to be the third wheel in their romantic walk along the terminal when they’ve chirped sweet nothings Louis couldn’t hear, held hands and exchanged sweet kisses, their every move documented by photographers that were heavily sprinkled along the airport to witness this beautifully moving goodbye.

Louis was… irritated to put it nicely. He could’ve slept an hour longer if it wasn’t for this bullshit. He held his distance, wanting nothing to do with the circus that was happening quite a few feet ahead of him, eyes plastered to the tiles as he stomped his feet, following Harry because yes, maybe he didn’t exactly know where he was heading, the buds in his ears successfully covering the cacophony of the paps, trying to get the pair’s attention even if for a second. 

He wasn’t going to deny that he was angry; of course, he was. He hasn't slept well the previous night, he barely did that particular one too. His exasperation reached its peak when the girl left with over an hour left for them to spare, even after they were done with all the formalities that with Harry being Harry, lasted a fraction of what they would usually last, even Louis getting some of that special treatment by association. 

Harry seemed not to be aware of the anger he unleashed in his friend. He was perhaps more exhausted that Louis was and that was his saving grace because Tomlinson didn’t think he’d be able to hide his annoyance if the boy bothered him with a chat. 

He knew that he’s not going to be able to take a nap at the airport so, he decided to take a stroll down the terminal, window-shop for a bit, give his nerves a chance to calm down. At first, he had his doubts about whether it was a good idea or not, remembering the herd of photographers. But see, Louis knew some things about that business from his brief period at Daily Mail, and from the very second they've stepped their feet in that terminal, it reeked of scheduled pap walk. 

His theory proved to be spot-on as soon as he took a turn into the main part of the terminal and found two, maybe three paps still lingering in there. It quickly turned out that he had no stamina to roam around the airport and let’s be honest, he had no idea what exactly made him think he’d enjoy window-shopping in the first place.

The short walk concluded in some hipster coffee joint, where he got the most caffeine, they could have fit into a paper cup. With his hand clasped around the cup that burned the pads of his fingers, he got back to the lounge where he found Harry right where he left him; snoozing with his head thrown back, mouth closed, looking unfairly graceful as his chest moved in a fixed rhythm. 

Louis settled himself in the spot right next to Styles, even though he probably didn’t have to since the place was surprisingly empty. He was squeezed between the singer and some of their luggage, soft puffs of warm breath engulfing his ear while the brunette shifted his head, leaning it on Tomlinson's shoulder. At first, he was annoyed, but there was something soothing in Styles' soft breathing so, he let him be as he continued sipping his hot coffee, regretting the choice of ever getting it somewhere halfway through the cup. Harry's peacefulness gave him an appetite for a nap of his own. Well, that was not going to happen after that coffee. 

With nothing better to do, he just scanned the lounge and further emptied the cup. After a while, his eyes stumbled upon a girl who was blatantly staring at them, well… at Harry, obviously, pointing her phone from time to time and snapping pictures of the celebrity. He hasn't spared her irritated gazes but not even that discouraged her. Louis couldn’t help but feel sorry for Styles whose reality consisted of shit like that, he was involved in ONE of those incidents (well, not really), and he was already so done with it.

The girl wouldn’t stop staring, tapping her fingers frantically on the screen of her phone until it was her time to board a plane and finally, they were left alone (kind of). Harry still asleep and Louis set himself up with a quest to scare away any people who even dared to approach the sleeping man and lord knows there were some of those. It was annoying, and he never signed up to be Styles' guard dog, but then, he kind of felt obliged to help after how nice he was through his hangover, not to mention him being silent about the night prior.

“Can I have your almonds?” Styles asked when he sensed that it might be okay to speak to Louis after his nerves settled down. It took four hours for the man to calm down, at least partially, after he, in anger driven by some mild inconvenience, called a TSA officer a tosser. Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to know what that meant. Yeah, maybe he overreacted (he surely did), but the irritation added up with his exhaustion was just too much to handle. Harry’s been eyeing the small, untouched packet ever since he was done with his own. “I’ll give you my chocolate.” He raised the stakes and reached his palm to Louis, the treat perched atop of it, wrapped in gold foil, hopefully seducing the older man.

It worked. Tomlinson accepted the offer by snatching the chocolate from his friend’s hand and unwrapping it immediately. He threw his packet of almonds at Styles, his gaze remained serious. Harry's hopes that the sugar would scare away the grumpies faded into nothing when Louis hasn’t said anything; he couldn’t be arsed to do that, he was way too tired. 

Harry ripped open the packet and dumped the nuts into his cupped hand, dropping one by one into his mouth, letting his molars do their job, crushing the nuts. "How do I get you to talk?" He sighed, tired of the silence interrupted only by people's talking in the background. For the first time in a while, their dynamic had switched, and it was Louis who was silent, and Styles wanted to talk. The nap and the coffee he had on the plane energised him significantly, and while he probably should’ve been doing something productive, he couldn’t bring himself to. 

Louis responded in a sigh after he licked the remaining chocolate off his teeth. He pulled himself up in the seat in which he reclined before, taking advantage of the comfort he had flying first class, for the first time in his life. Thank you, Jeff. “See, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me how long now?” He scoffed but took the hood off his head, showing at least some interest in the conversation, much to Harry's satisfaction.

“That’s different.” The brunette quickly shut him down and pretended that his almonds were extremely interesting all of a sudden. He seemed to be weighing some options in his head before he spoke after a minute or two. "I guess I could chat with you." His shoulders jumped in a shrug when he gave up, bored out of his mind, desperate for anything to occupy himself with since he wasn't in a mood for the book he brought and there was nothing new in airline's movie selection. So, he decided to bother Louis instead, and he wasn't going to lie and say that he did not have fun under those thunderous gazes thrown at him.

Louis was almost sure other passengers could hear the gears in his head, turning as he tried to grasp upon the meaning of words that just left Harry's lips. See, he thought he understood but even then, he still wasn't sure because it was quite surreal. After a month (A FUCKING MONTH) of trying to get him to talk, getting turned down each time, the man just proposes the conversation on his own? Because he was bored on a plane? God, that boy… “Chat as in…” 

"Yes." He was cut off, and while he was still kind of annoyed, he was also happy to have a chance to gather some material. 

He was taken aback when his guess was confirmed. “I don’t know what to ask you about.” He reached his hand to his head and scratched an itch he didn’t have just to have something to do with his hands. He spent so much time thinking about failure that he never really thought about what he’d ask Harry if he ever got a chance to do that. “I guess…” He crossed his arms on his chest, tapping his fingers, digging the tips in the material of his hoodie. “If we’re going with the boring biography… you could tell me something about your childhood. It only makes sense that we start from the roots.” 

There was a war in his head, he couldn’t decide whether he should take notes or just rely on his memory but under review, he decided that Harry might not be so willing to open up if he sees him taking notes and he wasn’t going to further sabotage his chances of getting some insight in Styles’ head. So, he was going to trust his memory which was significantly compromised at the moment.

"I guess you're right." The brunette nodded, reclining his seat before he stuck his eyes to the roof of the plane, maybe he thought it was any less real if he hasn't looked at the interviewer. "It's nothing interesting, really. I don't think my school experience differed a lot from yours. Was a quiet kid, school was fun until they mixed numbers with the alphabet in math and it got me fucked up.” He shrugged, his lips bending up just a tad at the memory he brought up, one his companion didn’t share.

Louis couldn’t help but wonder if Harry’s life was really as boring as he made it seem. If it was, he was quite fucked, to be honest. Imagine writing a biography about somebody with the most ordinary life that they didn’t want to speak about in first place. Well, let’s hope that it’s not all that boring the entire time. 

He decided to take matters into his own hands and steer the conversation into a more interesting direction. "Any childhood traumas? Bullying?" A smirk found its way onto his lips, and it quickly spread onto Harry's. 

“No, none of that.” He mumbled through his smile, his eyes closed as he laid on his back, legs stretched in the empty space he had to lavishly pay for. “Wasn’t very popular, my sister was my best friend… at least before people stopped thinking I was weird, I guess."

“Why would they think you were weird?” Tomlinson scoffed, a thought that Harry wasn’t the centre of attention from the moment he was brought into this world seemed unbelievable after knowing him for a month now. But then, when he thought more about it, it wasn’t really as shocking. He, himself had already noticed that there were two sides to this boy and maybe the second, private one was the real Harry?

He was pretty sure that the pauses the singer took before answering were spent on thinking over his answers, checking if he’s not going to give too much away. “I didn’t talk much.” 

“A shocker!” He clapped his hands perhaps a bit too loud since there were people sleeping around them. 

“They’d make fun of how I spoke, so I haven’t.” He brushed over Louis’ jab and continued where he was interrupted. 

“So what, you’ve stuttered, had a lisp or what?” The inquiry continued; the writer was taking mental notes as he went on.

Harry's head shook a bit, his eyelashes fluttered as if he wanted to open his eyes, but he didn't in the end. "They never gave us a name but I… don't know, used to talk really slow. When I was stressed or tired especially." The man squirmed in his recliner, taking his sweatshirt off and throwing it over his lap. "Convenient if you ask me, they never had me taking oral tests, would take forever." 

“Can’t see how this is convenient, I’ve always preferred those from the written ones.” 

“Of course, you would.” The brunette mocked.

Louis tried to look offended, even if Harry had no way of seeing his face. He put all of his efforts into sounding insulted as well. "What was that supposed to mean?" He waited for an answer for a bit before he realised that there was none coming. "I have a hard time believing that one could talk slower than you already do." 

“Was much slower than you’ve ever heard me speak.” 

"Fuck, way to make me feel awful for taking the piss of how you talk." Louis leaned his head forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was quite surprised to realise that he actually felt kind of guilty. It was so innocent, though, so dumb. 

Styles turned to his side, facing Louis. “You never did that.” His eyebrows furrowed when he threw his friend an intense gaze.

"Not in front of you, I'm shitty sometimes, but I'm not one to bully Hollywood's finest." Louis' eyes rolled to the roof as he mocked his friend's title. 

Styles' fist collided with his companion's ribs in a playful nudge. Harry was happy to see that the man got chatty again, even if only to gather some content for his book. For some reason, he needed company at that moment. What was unfortunate that they were stuck with each other on a plane for over thirteen hours and a three-hour layover in France on top of that. Whether he wanted it or not, Louis was the only company he had, unless he felt like making friends with random businessmen that surrounded them. He hasn't, of course. "I thought that bullying celebrities was your area of expertise." 

“Ha, ha, ha.” Louis deadpanned, really hoping this was a joke and Harry hasn’t actually thought about him like that. “So… the way you talk, is it some remnant from the childhood speech impediment?” He asked. Yeah, this condition was just as interesting as the fact that the boy had asthma but hey… at least he was talking. 

“I’m talking normally now, am I not?” Harry started picking on the skin around his fingernails, trying to find something to occupy himself with. His efforts came up futile, a consequence of having perfectly manicured hands. Louis remembered watching a woman coat his nails with the layer of polish just a day or two prior.

He wasn’t sure if the brunette was talking normally or not. He heard so many variants of his speech, he had no way of knowing which one is the real one. “Then why are you always talking like every word hurts you?” This time it was Lou’s eyebrows that furrowed, not fully understanding the reason behind this quirk of Styles’.

Here it was again, another pause, concluded with a deep sigh. “I don’t know, comes with a job, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

"Well, imagine that doing interviews is a big part of your job description, but nobody really wants you to answer questions."

"Why, though?"

“They get uncomfortable, you’d be surprised.” Harry shifted back to his previous position, his eyes closed as he laid on his back. “Or not.” He shrugged.

Harry couldn’t have seen them, for obvious reasons. “Wouldn’t want to ask one of them and make a fool out of myself.” Yeah, as if he already hadn’t but that was beside the point.

“There’s a lot.” The brunette waved his hand in dismissal, trying to get away from the conversation that turned out to be a horrible idea. The thought of some interviewers he had a dubious pleasure of working with started pissing him off. Well, he brought this on himself. 

“The most recurring one?" The man wouldn't back down, he knew he should, but he was curious, too curious.

Styles' chest was once again moving rhythmically, and his companion even thought that he dozed off since it was a while from when he asked the question. He hung his head above Harry’s and jumped back when the boy’s eyelids lifted, and the earthy green stared back at him with a pained glimpse deep inside. "If I'm... experimenting.” A deep groove settled between his eyebrows when he drew them together. “Sexually.” He explained and closed his eyes again. Of course, that was it, Louis knew it already from the interviews he read, from evasive answers he saw this boy give, so many times.

Louis thought it was the end of their conversation. He wasn't going to answer because well, he didn't want to make it uncomfortable. That ship might have already sailed, but if he had any choice, he'd rather not go any further in fear that it would scare Harry off.

“I… wasn’t going to ask that.” Tomlinson found himself saying before he could decide against it. Something deep inside told him that he should make it clear. That maybe Harry needed to hear that.

“Yeah? And why is that? You don’t strike me as a type to be scared to ask taboo questions.” Harry scoffed, bringing his seat to its usual position.

“There’s a difference between taboo and trying to out somebody, isn’t there?” He felt borderline offended that Styles would even think that he was capable of being such an asshole. Well, maybe he wouldn’t be so surprised at first but now, that Harry just _had to_ know that he’s not straight, it kind of stung.

"Surprisingly considerate words coming out of your mouth." A small smirk pushed away the grimace off the singer's lips, and Louis couldn't be happier seeing that. It bode well for their further collaboration.

“What was that supposed to mean?!” He repeated the question.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.” Styles reached into his pocket and took his phone out. 

Louis pushed his socked foot under his bum, turned to Harry and threw him an inquisitive look. “So…” He started, a smirk bending his lips as well, kind of ruining the whole act before it even properly started. “Are you gay?” He whispered, closer to brunette’s ear, the staple Tom Ford cologne hitting his nostrils from being so close to the pulse point, defusing the scent with every beat of Styles’ heart.

Harry stilled for a second and Louis panicked, thinking that he hadn’t made the joke obvious enough but then, his companion shook in laughter and pushed Louis back onto his seat. “Bugger off.” He shook his head in amusement and made himself busy, therefore concluding their brief chat.


	8. Chapter 8

“Looking for something?” Louis snarled from where he sat on a couch in Harry’s dressing room, scrolling through Twitter, just catching up on content he missed, not very invested in his online hunting as of late.

It was quite clear who the man was looking for. Therefore, he found it redundant to explain himself. When he hasn't found Styles where it would be logical for him to be, he left the room without a word.

Yeah, MAYBE Louis was a bit rough with Styles' bandmate who stumbled into the room, but it was more than justifiable in his case.

See, it was a week since the tour had kicked off in Stockholm. Now, they were… somewhere in central Europe. It gets kind of hard to keep track of his whereabouts when he falls asleep in one country and wakes up in another. They were cruising from country to country in a bus, usually sleeping through most of their travel. Well… at least as much as it was possible. Louis found himself quite restless, restricted to his little bunk that sometimes felt like a coffin, his body tossing around the compartment as they drove while mister superstar slept like a baby in his twin bed that clearly stated his superiority over the writer and that was, well… fair.

His situation was far from bad enough that any of his whining would be justifiable, while he obviously could’ve had it better, he could just as well have it worse. For once, he could've been contained in the bus with the rest of the band, and he was not certain whether he'd survive the tour if that was the case. So, he was going to take this partial privacy provided by the fact that the other bunks remained vacant and shut up.

Remember the bar get-together that led to Louis’ ultimate humiliation? The one where barely anybody even acknowledged his existence? Yeah, that one didn’t bode well for his future relationships with the gang. And while, up until the point where everybody joined Harry and him in Sweden, he was kind of living in delusion that those people needed some time to get accustomed to him and it will eventually get better as they spend time around each other and bond... well, let’s just say that none of that happened. With two or three people he kept cordial relations with, Harry excluded from the group, he stayed off the others’ hair, thankfully he wasn’t getting paid for making friends.

It quickly became quite obvious that hating Louis was a bit of a trend as if you won the prize of coolness for making his life a literal nightmare. Well, he might have been a bit dramatic with that statement, just a little though. There was not exactly any vendetta towards him, no hard feelings as he was often reassured, but people liked to mess with him if they got the chance. At first, he blamed it on being new in the group, just a bit of harmless hazing or whatever and let it slide but it got annoying real fast.

What hasn’t helped his case, was the fact that Harry almost fully withdrew from their friendship after they’ve spent some time together, already in Sweden. Louis thought that their flight was more than enough to make them hate each other (it sure made him hate the singer on quite a few, brief occasions), but even though he hasn’t spared Styles reasons to despise him during their journey, his behaviour truly annoying at times, his theory was proved wrong when Styles voluntarily spent pretty much the entirety of the next day with him. They both were extremely jet-lagged which was understandable considering how big of a time change they were getting used to but then, instead of sitting in their hotel rooms and sleeping it off like any sane person would do, they ended up roaming the streets of Stockholm, sightseeing, talking out of their asses and just being stupid, bordering on delirious from sleep-deprivation. It was late enough that people were inside for the most part, which led to them not being interrupted even once during the five-hour walk they've totalled.

And that was the last time Louis remembered actually hanging out with Harry. Well, maybe their stroll through the city was enough to make Harry sick of his somewhat new acquaintance (wouldn’t be surprising, he was quite unhinged the whole time, babbling like an idiot he was). At first, the writer even thought that he said something stupid again and just forgot about it, but when he realized that his subject was avoiding him, he went through every event of that night, step by step and he hasn't stumbled upon any blank spots, so that theory was put to rest.

Now, he was still around Harry a lot, that would invariably stay an integral part in his job description, whether the singer wanted it or not. They kind of settled on the whole tour diary idea and that required Louis to go where the singer went, at least most of the time. He would’ve gladly skipped on some shows and this whole pre-show debacle, losing interest in all of that after maybe third or fourth time, but he couldn’t really afford to skip on the content so, he just stayed quiet, took notes and tried to avoid his super cool co-workers at all cost.

Jeff Azoff was on the top of the list of people he was avoiding, that hasn’t changed, even if he was not really present with them. He was still leading on the unofficial chart of most irritating people around; constantly calling, asking for updates Louis didn’t have and with the increased amount of mutual ‘friends’, the task of dodging the boss has become significantly more tedious.

It wasn’t _that_ bad, though. Azoff could've started asking about the questionable charges on Louis' 'business expenses' card, and he hasn't to this day. Tomlinson was yet to find a plausible story to justify using that card to purchase weed just this morning. Oh, yeah… they were in Amsterdam. He was pretty sure that fulfilling his life-long (well, not exactly), bucket list position wouldn’t cut it if Jeff caught up with his bank records.

He didn’t know why he still sat in that stupid dressing room. It was three hours after he got there and he was yet to see Styles that day. The brief presence of his bassist, clearly told that he was not doing rehearsals and if he wasn’t doing that, he should’ve been right there, with Louis, still not speaking. It was quite unusual for him to have any variation in the strict pre-show routine but eh, how was his sudden disappearance any of Tomlinson’s problem?

It was almost one in the morning when he finally got the chance to enjoy the sweet release he always got from smoking weed. Lord knows, he needed a fucking break. He was not going to lie, the opportunity to finally spread himself all over the twin bed, in a proper hotel room, was a godsend. His not-so-cordial relations with other team members, plus the intimate character of his professional association with Harry, led him to reside near Styles, where the good rooms were.

To set the record straight, the singer was not some kind of asshole who would put his mates in some dingy holes just to save a buck, but as far as Louis knew, some of them stayed in shared rooms and whether it was their preference or not, the last thing he’d want, was to be placed with either of Harry’s asshole friends.

He left the bathroom he was smoking in, paranoid that he’ll get caught by the staff since he was _technically_ not allowed to do that and plopped on the bed, sprawling his bare legs around himself, enjoying the glorious freedom he had for the night before he goes back to his coffin for the next one. The blissful calmness started luring him in, its tentacles slowly wrapping around his legs, ready to fully pull him to sleep.

It was almost there, the land of peace and no band bullshit was just around the corner when his phone dinged where it was laying on the pillow to his right. He was curious who would be messaging him at this ungodly hour, but as soon as he saw the name on the display, the excitement was gone.

Harry, of course. Well… not really of course because it was not often that he spoke to Louis nowadays, not to mention messaging him. He opened the text and furrowed his brows at the peculiarity of it. _“Is your microwave running?”_

The haziness of his mildly stoned brain added to the initial confusion he was sure he’d still feel even sober, he wasn’t exactly sure what and if he should even respond to that. His first instinct told him that he was not the only one who got high and Styles just messed up a classic joke (wouldn’t be the first time), but then, he decided just to answer truthfully. He typed a quick _“yes”,_ even if he hadn’t actually bothered to check if the appliance was working, he just assumed that it did.

Somebody started struggling with the door just two minutes after, the guest taking advantage of the outdated lock and key system that was still used in the hotel they’ve stayed in and while Louis had a good idea who it might have been, he still got scared, his fuzzy mind archiving the text exchange way too quickly.

The door finally opened, and Harry let himself inside. "What the fuck?" He observed the door for a second, but only later, he found the reason for its resistance. He questioned the towel, pushed against the gap with a look.

“They’ve said on the internet to do that.” Louis explained as if it was the most obvious thing one would do. It still hasn’t brought Harry any closer to clarity.

“What?” He asked, confusion evident in his features as he came up to the bed and sat at the foot of it.

"Oh, I was smoking." Tomlinson rolled his eyes, annoyed that he even had to explain himself. "What do you want from me?" He was surprised at the hostility in his tone. Perhaps high Louis had a harder time keeping his hurt at bay. "Want to bully me some more?" That was not fair, not at all. While he stayed quiet, never really saying anything to his friends who had a laugh at Lou’s expense on numerous occasions (well, it’s not like Louis doesn’t have a tongue and god, he’s older than most of those people either way), Styles never actively participated in the hazing. Maybe now, while stoned, he was ready to admit that perhaps he was a bit hurt with the man enabling this kind of behaviour amongst his pals.

“Wanted to apologise actually.” Harry sighed, having trouble looking at Louis. He turned small, paper packaging in his hands, scrunching it some more before he finally brought himself to extend it to his friend who still laid on his bed, unbothered with the guest. “Brought a peace offering.” He tossed the object in front of his companion.

To be completely honest, the writer was everything but interested in whatever the fuck Harry brought him, but seeing that anticipation in his green eyes, even if he shouldn’t even be bothered with Styles’ emotions and such after the boy clearly hasn’t been worried by his, he budged and unwrapped the paper, his nostrils flared at the overpowering, floral fragrance he was hit with. “Wow, you know me so well…” He scoffed when he realized that he was gifted a bath bomb; a glittery, pink one. He wrapped it back up, way too sensitive at the moment, so much that the scent started being nauseating. 

“Thought that one was just perfect for a bold, macho man like you.” The guttural chuckle filled the room with positive vibrations, spreading to Louis, whose surprising laughter intertwined with his friend’s. “I’m sorry for what they did today. I had no idea, I promise.” His face tensed-up when he reminded himself of the incident that took place earlier that day. An incident about which he found out from his PA since Tomlinson never really brought up the issues he had with the teammates, he was no snitch.

Louis couldn’t help a hiss that seeped through his clenched teeth when the brunette brought up the situation he blissfully ignored since the first hit of his joint.

Somebody could argue that he was somewhat responsible for the prank his 'friends' pulled on him. Yes, he shouldn't have left his pass in Harry's dressing room when he went out to get something to eat, that was on him. However, that was no justification for Styles' bandmates telling the security that they didn't know who Louis was. He couldn't be mad at the bouncers, they were new in each venue, therefore, weren't really familiar with all the faces, but he did, in fact, throw quite a bundle of juicy insults at the men that were pretty close to twice his size when they refused to let him in.

He got fed up, real fucking quick; just as he always did. There was no use denying that he was short-tempered, it was evident the second he faced any kind of inconvenience. So, he left. He took a cab to the hotel, only later texting Harry to grab the pass for him. He was sure he hadn't missed anything too important when it came to the show. He usually ended up leaving early either way because yeah, Harry was a true showman, his stage presence completely hypnotizing but how many times can one watch the same show before getting bored? The answer was four.

See, the shows were quite tightly scheduled, everything was planned out, not much room for any kind of variation, therefore, they got repetitive after a while. He usually stuck around, took some pictures and bounced as soon as possible, trying to outrun the migraine that approached as soon as he found himself in front of an ocean of screeching women. 

“Cool, can we not talk about it? I was actually having fun before you got here.” Well… ‘fun’ was a big word but for some reason, he felt like taking a jab at his subject. “What was that microwave thing anyway?” He asked, remembering the text he got just a few minutes ago.

Harry shuffled on the bed as he dropped his hotel slippers on the ground, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, finally bringing himself to face Louis. “Wanted to make popcorn.” He admitted, pulling a flat packet from the back pocket of his jeans. 

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “REALLY?” He asked with disbelief in his voice, remembering buying that fucking popcorn earlier in some corner store on his way to the venue, due to Harry’s request. There was more than plenty of time he could’ve made it in his dressing room but he, of course, decided to wait till one in the morning and bother Louis with it. “Go ahead.” He huffed. “I can’t with you, really.” He threw his hand in the direction of a small table on which the microwave was situated. Thankfully, it was against the wall he was sharing with Styles, and if they get lucky, there wouldn’t be any grievances raised on him while mister superstar pops his corn. 

The hostility in Tomlinson's voice seemed to brush over Harry completely. He smiled and jumped off the bed, quickly getting into the popcorn making routine. "You can't let them take the piss off you like that, Louis." His tone grew more serious all of a sudden. He was standing near the microwave, his bum leaning on the edge of the table, arms crossed on his chest while he supervised his little project.

“Okay, mom.” The only response the writer could bring himself to voice. He really didn’t need any advice from this kid, he knew what he was doing. The silence felt like the best choice for them right now. The decision was made by Tomlinson himself, who just couldn’t be bothered dragging the conversation along. He just wanted to be left alone, relax, have a wank. These days, he had to use every chance he got if he wanted to avoid releasing himself with Harry a few feet away. _Technically,_ there was a door between Harry’s bedroom and the coffin area but let’s be real, he was not going to pull the padge with him being so close, two of them separated by the door of doubtful quality; at least not now, he couldn’t know how desperate he’ll get along the way.

But no, instead of having a very much needed moment to himself, he had a date with Harry Styles and his condescending tone which he was not even sure the boy knew he was using. Apparently, it was not enough that the two of them spent almost every evening around each other from the moment they got on the road after the Stockholm show, tonight was not going to be different.

The brunette pushed his hands into the pouch in front of his hoodie, his pretty much routine post-show attire. They were both listening to the kernels exploding inside the paper bag before he decided to speak again. “I could try to talk to them if you…” The moment the words left Harry’s lips, Louis released the loudest sigh he could bring himself to produce, cutting the artist off.

He didn’t know what was wrong with that boy and his _horrible_ ideas, that one was perhaps near the top of the list. "I'm not a child, you know?" He sounded harsh, and this time, it was absolutely intended. He wasn't there for babying when his mother did it all those years ago and he sure as hell is not there for it now, especially when it's some random dude that's literally younger than him. Just _no._

Harry showed a trace of common sense when he opened the microwave on the last second, preventing it from dinging and making unnecessary noise even if the ring would’ve been the least of guest’s problems after two and a half minutes of minor explosions but oh well. He took out the bag, grabbing it by the corner so he wouldn't burn himself and returned to the bed, settling himself against the pillows, nudging Louis in the ribs, so he scoots a bit. "You sometimes act like one." He laughed into the bag he opened, his nose dug into it as he took in the first whiff of the hot, fragrant steam.

Good thing at least he thought it was funny because Louis surely did not. “Thank god you’re such a good babysitter.” He scoffed, feeling uncomfortable under Harry’s gaze. The man wouldn’t look away, blindly pushing handfuls of popcorn into his mouth and chewing on it. His sloppiness made the writer even more infuriated. Not only his entire room was going to reek of popcorn until the world ends, now his mattress was going to be covered in crumbs because Styles couldn’t take a hint and get the fuck out.

Oh, how much he wanted to escape. Unfortunately, it was his room and walking out was not really an option. He still tried his best and got up, crossed his compact room in few steps and knelt in front of the minibar, getting out a can of coke and a small bottle of Jack Daniels. “You fancy a drink? Courtesy of Azoff.” He hasn’t waited for an answer and took the seconds of what he picked for himself. He set the beverages on the counter, took two of the glasses from the tray and mixed them a drink. Honestly, he doubted that he needed any more than he already had after he got back to the hotel, but then, he _needed_ more, especially if Styles was going to stay and keep babbling.

The commute from the bar to the bed turned out to be way too long to hold out, Louis found himself sipping from his glass before he got to Harry. Even if he was the one who mixed the drink, he still was still quite surprised at the strength of it, coughing as the liquor burned his throat on its way down.

Styles smirked at Lou’s reaction and reached his hand, wrapping his oily fingers around the glass, sniffing the fumes around the rim of the glass. “You trying to get me drunk?” The boy’s playfulness was not appreciated by the write, who still hasn’t felt like talking. If he had his way, he'd kick the man out to the curb (well, to his even more luxurious hotel room but whatever), but that would be rude, and for some reason, he still cared about his almost non-existent manners. "Thank god we don't have a show tomorrow."

“Yeah, thank god _we_ don't have one." Louis huffed mid-sip, spluttering the liquid around his chin. He was almost done with his drink, and he just felt the alcohol snoozing his aggression that awakened after long days of suppressing his frustration. It was bound that he'll snap, anybody would; unfortunately, Styles was too close and found himself in the danger zone. To be fair, he was somewhat responsible for whatever the fuck his bandmates were doing. Lou had a good idea that his teammates' reluctancy was directly associated with Harry's new hobby of barely acknowledging his existence around them.

It was weird, stupid, really. He had no idea why the hell Styles completely ignored him around other people but then, he often _sought_ his company, especially during the post-show evenings. Usually, he’d just invite Louis for some drinks, just the two of them where they’d talk, continuing their LA routine. Harry thought that he’s giving the writer some material for the book, but in reality, barely anything he provided was usable. 

Louis was pretty much certain that he’s going to pay off that book deal with his sanity or even life. He was working, struggling to work really. _Technically,_ he was doing quite alright, four chapters of the book somewhat planned out, but then, it was barely anything, and he had a feeling that the well was slowly drying out. It was only a matter of time before Harry shuts down again after sharing all of the insignificant details that nobody really cared about in the first place. People wanted the dirt, and he was not willing to give any out.

Sleep added to the things clouding Lou’s brain. God damn, he was really tired. Guess the streak of unsatisfying coffin-sleep took its toll on his booze tolerance because he felt himself getting wobbly, his eyelids getting heavier with every sip. “How was the show?” The interest was absolutely fake, he knew how the show went even if he hasn't seen it. It went exactly like it did the last time, the second to last and how it was going to go every time in the future.

“Fine.” Harry shrugged, offering his popcorn once again to the shorter man who denied it, the chore of getting oil off his hands not worth the snack.

Louis knew already that the singer was not very keen on talking about his performances. It was still unclear to him whether he was just playing coy or there was something behind it, but he was not a fucking therapist, so it seemed like he wasn't going to get an answer either way. "Look." He brought Harry's attention to nothing with his poor timing. He was struggling to find the place where his trousers split into a pocket, and when he finally did, it took him only a second to retrieve his phone and find a text he got from his friend, Andrew.

Styles sighed at a screenshot of the Daily Mail article Louis got a sneak peek of from his best mate. Nothing significant, to be honest. Somebody snapped a pic of the two of them in a restaurant, the day after one of the shows. It turned out that his little adventure with Harry was quite the topic in the office once people realized that they worked with Harry’s ‘mysterious friend’; Drew _never_ failed to take the piss out of him whenever he was even somewhere in the background of a picture they were going to publish.

"You talk with people about me?" Harry asked with something grim in his voice when he dropped the phone onto the mattress. The rest of his drink quickly disappeared, and he stood up, approaching the fridge in even fewer steps that it took Louis to get there and brought both beverages to the bed, splitting the rest between their glasses.

It took a quick moment for Louis to decide what he should answer because _yes_ , he sometimes joked about the popstar with Andy, but whenever he did, it was more _around_ Harry than about him. His relationship with the boss was pretty rocky already, he wasn’t going to break the NDA and give him even more reasons to sue him. “No, I do not.” _Technically_ , he hasn’t lied, but he also did at the same time.

Louis felt Harry's stance relax where he was pressed against his arm. He took a sip of his new drink and cleared his throat, not expecting the second one being even stronger than the one he prepared. Okay, apparently Harry got round to the idea of getting drunk. "Thank you." Something in this unnecessary show of gratitude screamed vulnerability, and if Louis knew better and wasn't borderline _pissed,_ he’d exploit it, wrap the boy around his finger and make him spill everything there was to spill, maybe even make him cry on his shoulder. But at the moment, he could only lean his head on Styles’ shoulder, trying to comfort him without making the act too obvious.

They were just sitting there like that, sipping their drinks in silence, feeling the alcohol influencing their bodies second by second. Louis' brain was barely there, yet he was alert enough that he felt himself dozing off for a bit. "Can I ask you something?" For some reason, he felt like asking that question for the first time ever, right at this moment. Just when he pushed the words out of his mouth, he kind of regretted them, not feeling like inquiring anymore. “Forget it.” His head shook a little when he put the empty glass on the nightstand before he fully gave in to his exhaustion and dropped it.

Harry fully twisted his body towards Tomlinson and blatantly stared at him, a deep groove between his furrowed eyebrows. He finished his drink before Lou did, the glass resting between his crossed legs. He was worn out after the show, and the alcohol only made it worse. Still, he was nowhere near Louis' state. "Noo, you’ve gotta ask me now." There was a note in his voice that made him sound like a toddler mid-tantrum, and it was seriously quite amusing, summoning a smirk to the writer's face.

The fight was too important to give it up without a struggle, and even if he knew that he had no chance against the brunette, he still decided he should oppose. "No, it's dumb." His eyes rolled at his own stupidity.

No words left Styles’ lips, yet Louis just _felt_ the pressure from his gaze alone. He regretted even opening his mouth. He might have been contemplating how believably he could pull off the falling asleep act but knowing himself, he would've laughed without a reason because that was what kind of person he was. Especially now that he was still kind of high, drunk and he would've laughed at everything; at this point, he was almost sure he'd cackle at one of his companion's jokes, and they were the lowest tier possible.

"Okay!" Louis threw his hands in frustration and tried to hide his face with one of them, but the effort was futile. "I was going to ask why do you hate me so much." He sighed, still not willing to look at the brunette who stilled after what he heard. His reaction was even more severe than the smaller man anticipated, and the regret doubled in size.

"Where did you get that from?" The brunette asked, and Louis could _hear_ the grimace even if his eyes were still plastered to the scrunched sheets between them. There was no response being prepared, and both of them were fully aware of the fact. They've pushed out oddly synchronized sighs before Louis felt fingers brushing the outside of his thigh and as much as he tried to convince himself that it was unintentional, there wasn't really a way it could've been. "Louis?" The taller man rasped, bringing his friend's attention to himself, a question in his gaze. "Can I kiss you?" He asked, an internal conflict fully played out by his expression.

At first, Louis thought it was a joke at his expense, he was surely used to those. He was sure that Harry finally decided to stop stupidly pretending that the act of Tomlinson’s ultimate humiliation hasn't taken place, but his hand was still on Lou's thigh, gripping it lightly and it messed with the older one's head. Everything in him chanted _yes_ because, _fuck_ , he wanted to kiss him whether it was him just being horny, wanting to regain at least some of his dignity after that infamous night or whatever else it could’ve been, he wanted to taste those lips. On the other hand, he did not want to sound too eager and embarrass himself even more if all of this turned out to be some stupid prank, maybe Harry decided to join his friends in this whole 'bullying' debacle, who knew?

The last speckle of clarity brought the appropriate answer to Lou's tongue. “I’d really rather you not.” Before he could’ve realized that it was literally the worst answer possible, he already finished speaking. In the last effort of saving his face, he smirked playfully and left the rest for Harry to decide.

Unsurprisingly, used to getting everything he desired, Styles completely brushed over the answer and leaned over, placing his spread fingers along Lou's jawline before he slotted their lips together. Louis thought he couldn't have embarrassed himself more than he already had, but hey, that was not the truth at all. Turned out, that kissing was another of those things the brunette was better in than he was. Well, to be fair, he clearly had way more practice with however many people he dated, _and_ he was nowhere near as intoxicated as the writer was. Hopefully, he was going to take that into account before he goes to his bandmates to take the piss of his sloppiness if that's what this whole thing was about.

It didn’t really matter at the moment if Louis was going to pay off the encounter with countless hours of being the butt of various jokes. He was kissing Harry Styles, their booze-flavoured lips rubbing against each other for a hot minute before the taller man pulled back, probably tired of Louis’ desperate attempts at licking into his mouth.

Tomlinson took a mental note to make sure this kiss gets mentioned on his gravestone because seriously, that was probably the biggest thing he was ever going to achieve. He’ll probably note that in his will since he wasn't really sure if this occurrence was included in the NDA, he signed.

Harry still looked at him, his gaze inscrutable as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “I thought you didn’t remember.” He observed, eyebrows again furrowed as he stood up from the bed, leaving his friend behind, needy and embarrassingly enough, slightly stiffened in his pants since he was apparently fifteen again.

“I’d rather not.” Louis scoffed and shook his head, the kiss adding up to the wooziness for some reason. Jesus, he really had to relieve himself if _this_ was enough to get him worked up. “See you at noon?” His eyebrow shot up as he asked the question, seeing that Harry was slowly but surely approaching the door.

“I think we’ll go with late checkout.” He looked at the clock on one of the nightstands and blinked his eyes, not believing how late it was. “Yeah, definitely.” He nodded and slipped out of his room before Louis could even say goodnight. 

-

 _“Where are you?”_ Louis sighed at another text he chose to ignore that day. It was fourth or maybe fifth that Harry sent him after he failed to turn up at the venue. It's not like he had any kind of schedule, but generally, he'd get there around one. Not this day though, it was five in the evening, and he was still nowhere near the place, with no intention of ever showing up.

Yeah, perhaps he should’ve answered and notify the boy that he’s not going to be there that day but to be completely honest, that was the last thing he could bring himself to think about. He was a complete mess, scrambling his thoughts for a solution for the pickle he found himself in, unable to come up with anything and that made him even more frustrated.

He couldn’t just sit in the tour bus and pity himself all the time, in desperate need of something to occupy himself with, he settled on strolling the streets of Budapest, acting like he knows what he's looking at whenever he stumbled upon some landmark. Some pictures had been taken even if he couldn't care less about the sightseeing. He wouldn't do that if it wasn't for people at home, pretty much forcing him to take some so they could see some things as well (apparently they weren't aware of the existence of the internet).

An hour had passed before the next text reached his mobile. He was truly shocked that he lost another sixty minutes, it felt like fifteen at most. But yeah, there he was, dragging his feet on the cobbled street. His location was quite a mystery even for him, to the point that even he couldn't have answered accurately if there was another question of his whereabouts. There wasn't, though. Harry seemed to give up on that, seeing that there was no answer coming and dropped a quick display of concern with his _“Are you safe?”_

The writer sat on one of the benches scattered around the circumference of some recreational area where people relaxed and enjoyed beers from a nearby pub. Maybe he could've used a beer himself, maybe he could use thirty. That was not an option though, he needed to keep himself focused, at least somewhat. He was hardly clear-minded even now, sober. 

At some point, his thoughts swerved into Harry's lane, and suddenly he felt fucking guilty. It was an asshole move on his side. It was the first time he went MIA like that and with the tendency Styles had for worrying (Louis discovered that one a while ago), it was a recipe for disaster. That's why, hoping that he'd make things any better, he quickly typed a message and sent _“I’m okay, mum.”_ Harry's way. He contemplated adding a rolling eyes emoji at the end, but he hasn't fallen quite this low just yet. Therefore, he decided not to.

He hoped the text helped the singer because it sure as hell hasn't helped him; if anything, it made it even worse. He should've thought through his words before even typing them because fuck, his mum was the direct source of his problems and damn if he hasn't made himself worry even more with that stupid nickname he got for Styles. UGH

The clock on his phone showed ten in the evening when he finally decided to head to the bus. Whether he wanted it or not, he had to get back if he felt like avoiding being left out. Well… he knew, they wouldn't leave without him, but there was still the thought of inconveniencing people and causing a delay, and that wasn't a good concept either.

Much to Louis' surprise, Harry wasn't inside yet, even though he saw some of his bandmates smoking cigarettes outside of their vehicle. He wasn't going to lie and say that he was disappointed not seeing the man in there because he really wasn't. The last thing he needed at the moment was questions and those, he just _knew,_ were coming his way as soon as the artist gets back. Hopefully, Louis would be dead asleep by then, and if not, he was not above pretending that he was.

Without testing his luck too much, he changed into his extremely sophisticated pyjamas, consisting of a t-shirt that was ages past its prime. He kept his underwear on and started hating himself for not wandering into the venue for a quick shower. Well… he was going to have to stretch his previous one a little until they get to their hotel.

There was no way he could fall asleep like that. He wasn't comfortable at all, but he rarely was in his coffin either way. The only time he hasn't had problems falling asleep was when he was drunk and now… there was not really a vision of that happening any time soon. For a quick second, he contemplated calling his mother, but only then he remembered what time it was and realized that she was most likely fast asleep already. Not to mention that this would quite successfully trash his plan of pretending to be asleep.

His body was balled under the thin comforter he usually slept with. He rarely ever drew the curtain that was there to provide him with some privacy and shield him from the light. Yeah, sleeping out there, in the open was not ideal, especially when he knew that he's not the most attractive sleeper under the sun but then, it turned out that he got claustrophobic when he was fully enclosed like that, so, he decided against the curtain.

There was still only him and the driver on board of the bus when the phone started buzzing under his pillow. He was convinced that it was Harry and another list of pointless questions, but no, he was wrong. It was Andrew, returning the call he missed from Louis who called him while he was at work. He was kind of in a crisis situation and needed his friend's help since he couldn't really handle the case remotely.

The moment the door opened and Harry stepped inside, carrying the scent of his shower gel, was the moment Louis knew that he failed and was going to face extensive questioning, the second his call ends. Thankfully, it didn't bode that he was going to be finished anytime soon. The interrogation he got from Drew was million times better than the one he was going to get later. Most of the time, he could use the NDA as a shield and not even answer which was pretty convenient to him, he really hasn't felt like babbling about his new, 'exciting' life at the moment.

Almost thirty minutes had passed before Louis could cut to the chase and explain what exactly he needed his best friend to do for him. He thanked himself for being smart enough to leave Andy the keys to his apartment because if he hasn’t, there really wouldn’t be a way he could’ve pulled this off. Thankfully, at least this time, he proved to be the responsible adult whom he wasn’t most of the time. 

Only after he had a chance to explain his plan in the smallest detail and made sure that his friend fully understood him, he finished the call. It was quite a surprise when he noticed that midnight was already there, it didn't feel like they were talking that long at all. They still haven't taken off for some reason, and Harry didn't seem alarmed by the occurrence, so Louis felt like he shouldn't either.

He should’ve been though, for a whole different reason. The second he stopped talking, the springs in Styles' mattress creaked, and he got up, approaching Louis' usual bunk. This exact moment, the shorter man regretted picking the top one because it was pretty comfortable for Harry to look into. It's not like he was really surprised with things not going how they were supposed to, it was quite a recurring theme in his life at the moment.

Harry looked at his friend who nuzzled his face into the corner of his comforter, trying to hide from the scrutinizing look that would not go away. It was a while ago when he established that the brunette had a problem with reading people. Therefore, he wasn't particularly shocked that the boy wouldn't fuck off. "You keep your money in an underwear drawer?" He scoffed, commenting on the part of Lou's conversation he had with his best friend. "What are you? Eighty?" 

The amusement, clearly painted on Harry's face met with absolute blankness on Louis'. He knew that the boy was just trying to loosen the atmosphere, but his efforts were pointless at this moment. Feel the room, Styles. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to joke around. "Yes." He deadpanned, without any intention to further elaborate. _Hopefully_ , the boy would finally take a hint and fuck the right off. 

Of course, he hasn’t. He still stood there with his eyebrows furrowed as if he tried to have a glimpse of what Louis was thinking. Thankfully, there was no way he could be able to do that because Louis probably would end up without the job and with a restraining order, considering that he might have been contemplating the best way to murder the brunette without actually going to jail. Hell, maybe getting locked up was worth it.

“Do you want to talk?” Harry asked, leaning down. He placed his folded arms on the edge of Louis’ bunk and propped his head on them, looking uncomfortably deeply into Lou’s eyes, just as if he could see through the unphased façade, right into the chaos in his head.

“No.” 

“Do you want me to talk?” He proposed, hoping that it would maybe pull focus from whatever it was that occupied his friend’s thoughts.

"No." Louis felt himself getting frustrated with the unwanted attention he was given, and it was clear as the day in his tone. See, he knew that Harry did nothing to deserve his hostility and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop being mad at him. Nothing would have happened if the boy was able to take 'no' for an answer; therefore, he was just a little bit guilty as well.

Sleep seemed like the best escape from where he was right now; stuck, worrying about his mother because yeah, she might have told him that she's okay, but her word wasn't necessarily believable. Louis knew damn well what he'd say if the situation was flipped and he also knew that his mother was the person he learned lying for the sake of others from. 

Styles was still standing like an idiot, inspecting Lou’s face or at least what was visible of it. “Do you need anything? What’s going on?” He was confused, rightfully so. 

The case was that it was none of his business, and Tomlinson was fully aware of that. There was no need for him to share his problems with the guy because that's not at all what their relationship was about. They were professional, working together, not sharing their personal drama, and that was the first boundary Harry ever set between them. Therefore, Lou was going to stay quiet, hoping that the brunette will leave him alone when faced with no reaction. 

He was right. It took some time, but Harry finally surrendered and left to his area, not before reassuring that he's there if Louis needs somebody to talk.

Did Louis need to talk? Fuck yes, he did. He was just overwhelmed with everything that was happening in his life right now. He was homesick, never had he anticipated that the tour would take such a toll on him and that was the smallest inconvenience he faced either way. It was the day after the Amsterdam show when he found out that his mother was in a hospital. See, it's not exactly like she even told him about it. They were on the phone, the woman acting like everything was fine, and nothing was different, but she hadn't taken into the consideration that Louis would be able to pick up on the even beeping of the medical equipment. He was somewhat confused by it at first but brushed it over, thinking that it might have been pretty much everything. His biggest fear was confirmed when he heard a nurse, addressing his mother by her name and there wasn’t really any use denying the fact then. The mother confessed and said there was nothing he should be worried about and that she’s fine. Yeah, right.

He should’ve known better than leaving for around the world trip when his mum’s state was as uncertain as it was. In his defence, the woman never told him anything more than that she’s ‘okay’ or ‘stable’ and let’s be honest, Louis couldn’t see shit in the numbers on her test results, so he had to believe whatever she was saying and that was his biggest mistake. Now, he was stuck working on a book that was bound to fail, away from home, unable to take care of his mother who needed him even if she insisted that she didn't. The least he could do was get some funds to help her with buying the new medication she was put on but guess what, even that wasn’t easy. 

Yeah, he had savings but so what when the money was pretty much frozen on his savings account, and he couldn't really access it just yet? That was what this whole Andrew thing was about. Thankfully, he had some cash stashed at home. He was pretty sure it wasn't enough; those meds were atrociously expensive, but at least, it was something. It wasn't clear to him what he was going to do to get the rest, and the uncertainty frustrated the hell out of him. 

He was quite desperate and even thought of using his 'business expenses' card to pay for the prescription as soon as they get to Manchester stop of the tour, but his mother's medication could hardly be considered a business expense. It's not like he hasn't abused his card here and there, but he never has taken quite as much, and he was not going to risk it. He's an adult, he has to figure his shit out on his own. It wasn't long that he was going to get the royalties for his books and the situation clears out. 

Right now, he was still an adult, a hopeless one that somehow, ended up crying himself to sleep because fuck, he had too much on his shoulders. He just hoped Harry wouldn’t hear his sniffling. All this time, Louis was pretty sure there was no way he could further embarrass himself in front of the boy but then, crying seemed like a good way to do that after some contemplating. 


	9. Chapter 9

"Is that really what you think?" Louis inquired with a pen in between his fingers, twisting it clumsily to occupy himself, scanning Harry's face carefully as the man reclined in the armchair in writer's hotel room. They were having one of their 'book talks' that somehow transitioned into something completely different, and now, Styles was just sharing stuff that he'd never share before. Of course, he explicitly said that what he was saying was off-record but let's be honest, Louis was still taking mental notes at record speed, praying that he'll be able to retain the information long enough to put it into his real, physical notes because _fuck_ , he never got that much actual, quality material. 

He was somewhat aware of the stain he's put on his morality when he decided to exploit the fact that Harry tended to close his eyes when he spoke and turned on the voice recorder on his phone, gathering everything the boy had to say since he just didn’t trust his memory, especially that there were drinks involved. 

Tomlinson was taken aback when he opened the door to his hotel room and found Harry on the other side of them. Normally, he wouldn’t ask twice, he was used to those meaningless post-show chats he had with the singer. But see, there was something different. They were in Paris, and Styles' girlfriend flew in for the occasion. They had two days in the city of love, and was there a better opportunity for pap walks of the happy couple than that? Probably not. 

Louis was determined to finally decide on his thoughts about that pair. He was pretty fucking sure that this whole relationship was nothing more than a bunch of bullshit, just a publicity stunt like loads of others in Hollywood. That night, he was set on observing the girl throughout the show from the comfortable corner of the designated area, reserved for so-called VIP’s whom Louis apparently was as well. Everything went up to his plan, and the illusion of a perfect couple was there. Harry looked her way from time to time, she hadn't taken her eyes off of him aside from the moment when she snapped a picture to post on her social media and all of it was pretty believable, filling Tomlinson with doubt up until the point when three songs in, the girl took the friend whom she flew with and just left. He waited for the girls to get back, thinking that they went to grab a drink, use the restroom or whatever but they were nowhere to be found. Even after the show, they were not backstage so yeah, Louis was convinced that the whole relationship was a complete sham. All he could think about was how many of those relationships Harry had been through, and he was going to confront him with the information he gathered, determined to finally get to the bottom of this, even if usually getting anything from Styles reminded him of pulling teeth.

He had an advantage this time though. Usually, it was Louis who got woozy faster and most likely, that would’ve been the case that time too if it wasn’t for the fact that the brunette clearly had something to drink before he got to the hotel. Maybe he wasn’t a smelling genius, but he could recognize hard liquor when he got a whiff of it. And now, Harry got particularly babbly, exposed to Lou’s predatory instinct for which he would feel guilty if he hadn’t felt this idiotic, unreasonable sense of betrayal for being lied to about the whole relationship. He was fully aware that Styles owed him no explanation, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling, so, he was quite okay with digging in the boy’s psyche.

The pause in their conversation lasted long enough for Harry to forget what he was even asked about. He peeked through his eyelids, thinking that Louis wasn’t going to see that, but of course, he caught him. That's when he fully opened his eyes and shamelessly plastered them to Louis, tracing the thin rim of his glass with an index finger. “This feels just like therapy.” He sighed and threw his head back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with eye contact.

“Expensive ass therapy.” Louis scoffed, his joke summoning a small smirk on his companion’s lips only to vanish a second later.

“Doesn’t it, though?” 

“I wouldn’t know, never been to one.” Well, that was a lie. _Technically_ , he was seeing a school counsellor during the difficult period of his puberty, but there was no way Harry could’ve known about that. Yeah, Louis told him some things about his mother but he never really dove deep enough to share that particular information. He was pretty sure that he won’t ever spill that ‘little’ detail of his life because really, it was fucking embarrassing. “Are you seeing a therapist?” He cocked his eyebrow in an inspecting expression, one that the brunette couldn’t have seen as his eyes were once again, closed shut.

The taller one squirmed in his seat and finished the drink he was nursing for a while now, long enough that it got warm and the sip was concluded with a disgusted grimace.

At first, it hasn’t looked like there was an answer coming. Harry got up from his seat, grabbed both of their glasses and approached the mini bar, contemplating their limited choices before he settled for a refill of gin and tonic they were sipping previously. “Not now but yeah, I was seeing one while in LA. We all do.” He admitted, swirling the liquid in the glasses to mix it. He returned the glass to Louis and fell back on the armchair with a loud sigh. “We need people to tell us that we’re not egocentric assholes and we’re worth something.” He mumbled against the rim of his glass, a bitter smirk deforming his tanned face. 

“You think _you’re_ worthless?” He _tried_ to suppress the mocking tone in his voice, but his vocal cords wouldn't obey his brain. It was quite a revelation really because, fuck, if Harry Styles felt worthless… how was he supposed to feel?

Thankfully, the singer didn’t look offended. It was rarely that he even took things Louis said to himself which probablyshould worry him just a little, considering that it clearly showed that the boy didn't take him seriously, but then, in that particular case, it worked to his advantage.

Harry still couldn’t bring himself to look at Louis, perhaps thinking that it would make his confessions any less real and it’s not like Tomlinson could blame him for that flawed logic, he was guilty of the same behaviour on numerous occasions. “In the grand scheme of things, we’re all just as worthless, aren’t we?” The conversation shifting to some heavy, existential topics was perhaps the last thing Louis had anticipated when he started talking with Harry that evening. “Whether it's me, a homeless person or a fucking queen for that matter.” He shrugged, the words slipping out of his mouth with astonishing ease, just as if he was talking about the weather.

The writer had some questions he wanted to ask Harry, written on a piece of paper he still held in his left hand, even if officially it wasn’t their ‘book talk’. He thought that he’ll be able to steer the conversation back onto the right lane when his subject told him they’re going off the record but now… now he absolutely didn’t want that to happen. The page ended up being scrunched and pushed into his pocket, there was more than enough time for him to ask his stupid questions later.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to answer to what his companion had said. It was a while since he even had time for his existential reflections. Well, that was not true. His job left him with plenty of time for thinking, not to mention the month he spent in LA, doing absolutely nothing but then… he really didn’t want to think about that. It was quite depressing, especially if his realizations were going to be nearly as grim as Harry’s.

He was still nowhere near forming a sensible answer because he wasn’t sure whether he should just agree or maybe try to comfort the boy and tell him that he’s not, in fact, worthless. That was the truth though, he thought that Harry seeing himself in that light was quite idiotic and sure as hell didn’t do any favours for his psyche. 

“We’re all gonna be dead soon anyway, six feet under the same ground… Who cares if the casket is made of gold or there’s no casket at all?” The boy interrupted Lou’s contemplation with another ‘valuable’ insight and, to be honest, it was better than having to think about an answer. “We’ll all end up either a pile of ashes or a corpse for insects to claim and nobody will remember us in a decade or two.” His expression eased up when he finished his monologue and got up again before Louis had a chance to notice that he was already done with his drink.

The writer refused a refill, feeling that he doesn’t need any more, especially that he had a plan on taking a stroll around Paris the next day. Yeah, he still felt like shit, and none of his problems disappeared, but then, this was his only chance to see all the wonders around the world that he wouldn’t have an opportunity to see otherwise. Hell, he’s never been outside of the UK before the deal came his way and probably wasn’t going to if that hasn't happened to him. 

Even if that whole book was going to be an entire trainwreck and he’s gonna end himself the moment he gets sued, at least he’s having the time of his life now… well, kind of.

Harry stumbled on his way back and huffed in surprise, pulling his friend out of his thoughts. The older man only laughed at a wet stain on the carpet where some of the drink had spilt.

The brunette fully ignored the armchair he’s been sitting on for however long they’ve been talking for and sat beside Louis, supporting his back on the abundance of hardly necessary pillows. They were soft and aesthetically pleasing, of course, but all Louis could think about was how big pain in the ass they were for maids that were making those beds. 

A thought had occurred to Louis, one that he would’ve never seen coming. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have thought twice before milking every single drop of that vulnerability that was so obvious in the boy’s face and demeanour but now, he found himself hesitating and to be frank, it kind of scared the shit out of him.

For the first time ever, he had this weird, truly bizarre feeling, somewhere deep in his gut. Was it remorse? No, it couldn’t have been! He was Louis fucking Tomlinson, he didn’t know remorse! But then, he kind of felt like it was exactly that, at least that’s what he assumed from what he’s heard about the feeling before, he hasn’t felt like that before, _ever._

See, none of the subjects he wrote about seemed _real_ to him. They were long gone, written in the cards of history, never able to speak up for themselves and confront him if some things he wrote were incorrect (he doubted that they were, he prides himself in thorough research but mistakes happen, right?). So what he wrote that some sixties guru shoot heroin up his veins and engaged with hardly consensual sexual relations with girls that sometimes were not even legal yet? There was nothing wrong with giving people this kind of information as long as it was true, he hasn’t changed his mind about that issue, and he most likely wasn't going to do that anytime soon.

The thing was that unlike all of the other people he wrote about, Harry Styles was very much _real._ Louis could talk to him, could touch him if he ever doubted whether he’s not just a figment of his imagination (let’s just say that he had moments like that but he doubted he was the only one), and with all of his realness that differentiated him so much from all of Lou’s previous subjects… he was just as voiceless, helpless to what was being publicized about him. 

The survival instinct had kicked in, pushing away the conflicting thoughts that overtook his brain without his permission, and he decided to proceed, taking as much as he could before Harry shuts down again. It didn’t seem like he was going to do that, from that truly outlandish day in Louis’ life, where the ceiling of his metaphorical house had caved in on his head, knocking him out with all the problems that were slowly but surely catching up to him, Harry was extremely sociable… well, at least with the writer. It was most likely his way of trying to occupy Lou's thoughts with anything but his problems, even though he never learned what it was that Louis was struggling with. Nevertheless, he was appreciated, and Tomlinson felt just a little bit guilty that there was not really a way he could express that without using words and yeah… considering his profession, saying that he’s not good with words would probably be the dumbest statement, but he really wasn't great with them, or just words that had to do with emotions. Yeah, those were probably the source of his struggle to say thank you. 

Along with increased interactions between the two pals, Louis’ troubles with pestering teammates minimalized drastically, leaving an odd, harmless prank here and there, one that he was glad to deal with when compared to the nightmare he endured before.

While Harry never avoided contact with any of his bandmates, considering all of them his friends, he kind of drew back and hung out around Louis, which was a true surprise for all of those people. Louis didn’t necessarily have a thing to base his theory on but either way, he kind of thought that both he and the singer needed that. Because yeah, while they were together, neither insisted on conversation and sometimes it felt like they were alone even if they weren’t. 

But then, some of the bandmates got frustrated and started striving for every second of Harry’s time. Louis wasn’t going to lie and say that he was not annoyed when suddenly, everybody seemed not to have any problems with him when they’ve joined him and the artist for a meal or a drink at a bar. Of course, he had. It was just so fake, and he wasn't there for any of this, but he wasn't going to add fuel to the fire and decided to push through whatever those people were doing, it was still better than purposefully locking him out of the venue, hiding his belongings or giving him salt instead of sugar to put in his coffee. And while some of the mates proved to be quite decent people, he was doubtful whether he was going to be able to get rid of the beef they’ve instigated previously and just start over. No, not that… he wasn’t ‘doubtful’, he knew damn well that he wasn’t going to because he was Louis and Louis was quite a petty bastard who wasn’t ashamed to admit that.

Only when Harry twisted his head to look at his friend, curious about the source of his sudden silence, he realized that he probably should’ve said something a while ago. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Not being remembered?” He asked a question he had prepared before he went on this whole internal rant on morality of his actions. Apparently, his brain decided it’s not that bad and went on with the questioning.

The inquiry hung heavy in the air between them, earthy green pupils stuck to the wallpaper on the wall, escaping those blue eyes that inspected him so carefully. “I don’t know, maybe?” He brought his gaze back to Louis, searching for validation he was not going to get. “Yeah, I am. I feel stupid even admitting that but… I’d like to be remembered, having my legacy live on even when I’m not here anymore.” His fingers started tapping nervously on sides of the glass he was almost done with.

“I think it’s given that you’ll be remembered for years, you’re doing great things already, and I'm convinced that the world hasn't seen the last of you." Harry hung his head down, struggling to cover the shy smirk that crept its way on his lips. He always got so sheepish when faced with a compliment and considering what he was doing for a living, he probably lost quite a few days looking flustered about being praised. “For whatever it’s worth, I’ll remember you.” Tomlinson’s shoulders jumped in a shrug that concluded his surprising, sappy moment. 

The brunette scoffed, and Louis had to take a second look to see if his ears weren't fooling him. He hasn’t seen that reaction coming and to be honest, he was confused. Harry giggled for a hot minute, struggling to keep the last of his drink in his mouth and sighed when he managed to swallow it without spitting the liquid out. “Yeah, as if you’re going to outlive me.” The mocking smile wouldn’t leave his lips, deepening when he was faced with Louis’ staple ‘excuse me?!’ face. 

He knew damn well that the singer was right. His family didn’t necessarily belong to long runners, his lifestyle was far from healthy, he was older and competing with a man who was his absolute opposite. The issue of whether he was going to live through next two years, the threat of a million-dollar lawsuit still hovering above him like a dark cloud, was still not determined but even if he was going to survive that… there’s no way he’ll last more than thirty more years on this planet.

Airy giggles died down and gave way the grim atmosphere that returned after a quick break. Louis saw how the corners of Styles’ lips drooped down a bit, probably an indication that he was back into his head again. For some reason, Louis felt like comforting the boy because it was quite sad that Harry felt this way about himself. “Look at Elvis, Lennon or Mercury… It’s been decades since they’ve died and they’re still worshipped by people all over the world.” 

“Their music means something. It’s raw, it’s convincing, it’s a protest… so much more than ballads about being sad and horny, you know?” The boy pulled out one of the pillows from behind himself and leaned down on the bed, his head rolled to the side, away from Louis. 

The writer sighed. Fuck, he didn’t sign up for that! Comforting a melancholic pop star who had an entire support system that should be there for him, was not in his job description. And then, it kind of was, considering that it was the only time Harry willingly shared personal stuff with him. So, the least he could do was try to make him feel better about himself. “But there’s still so much time for you to develop what makes you as an artist, you’re barely getting started.” Well, he meant it. Yeah, yeah, Styles’ music might have been a bit generic for his linking, but he was only on his second album, he had loads of time to change it up. 

Harry’s sombreness broke with a scoff. Louis had no idea what was so funny about his words. Well, maybe the boy found them being just as sappy as he did, but the reaction was hardly appropriate either way. “You think they’d let me?” He laughed bitterly. “Louis, I got in trouble for getting political during a show… I think it’s safe to say that protesting doesn’t agree with my image. Fuck, I’m not even allowed to be who I am." He sighed, and the writer could just see that he regretted opening his mouth the moment the words slipped off his tongue. 

There it was, he had Lou’s full attention even if it hasn’t been there all the way through the entire conversation. He just _felt_ it, just as he had with that poetry book back in LA. “In what sense?” He scrunched his eyebrows, staring at the side of Harry’s face since it was everything that was accessible to him. The boy wouldn’t look at him, looking lost in his thoughts and frankly, quite devastated.

“I don’t want to talk about it, sorry.” Harry ended the conversation, not moving a muscle, his eyes stuck on the clock hung on the wall, observing how the hands jumped. 

Nobody said anything for what Harry observed was five minutes. It felt longer. After he got the taste of the good thing, Louis was kind of desperate to hear more, and he knew that he's going to regret getting so spoiled. He was convinced that the whole sharing period is going to be over the second they wake up tomorrow, pretending that none of it ever happened, just as they did with the kiss that neither of them addressed even though he was certain that Harry remembered it as well as he did.

“That’s exactly who I don’t want to be.” The brunette sighed once again, his eyes halfway covered by heavy lids. 

“Who?” 

“A label puppet that gets depressed, fat and ends up dying on a fucking toilet. I don’t want that… I don’t want to be Elvis.” He shook his head at the vision he created for himself, clearly not excited about his future.

“That’s fair.” That was all the writer could bring himself to say because yeah, he was kind of clueless about what Harry felt. Yeah, he knew how it was to feel useless and stuff, but it was quite different from what the boy was telling him about. 

Louis was about to add something, still not exactly knowing what was there to say to make matters any better but his contemplating was interrupted by the younger guy who shifted to his side and lied down, facing Louis’ profile. “Lennon was a fucking entitled asshole, writing songs about peace and equality from his fully staffed mansions with millions on his bank account. The whole peace thing quite ironic when so many people claim he was abusive.” He mumbled his words, the voice raspier than previously.

The chuckle the writer pushed out of his lungs was filled with amusement, mixed with something bitter. It was weird, but Harry's reflections took a toll on him as well. He wouldn’t have ever thought he was capable of that. See, Styles’ struggles haven’t affected him in any way. Hell, if anything, they were something positive from his point of view, giving him material to write about. He was never the most compassionate one, that was sure from the moment he started taking his frustrations and lash out on his mother, but now, he found himself feeling quite crappy, taking a few Harry’s worries upon himself.

“You sure have some strong opinions on cult favourites, anything on Freddie?” Louis tried to light up the atmosphere with his tone, but he knew he fucked up the moment he saw the singer’s eyebrows furrow. 

“He was just miserable… can kind of relate to that.” He chuckled bitterly. “A showman who in reality was a whole another person off stage.”

“Is there more that makes you relate to him?” Louis crossed his arms on his chest, satisfied with them getting back on track of their conversation.

“Obviously I’m not saying we’re alike… he was so much bigger than I will ever be…” He squeezed his eyes shut, tugging on a hem of his friend’s t-shirt, not fully aware he was doing that, and Louis hadn't felt like telling him to stop. He only gave him a look, encouraging him to continue. “Expectations, so many expectations…” Harry proceeded with the story, sighing deeply, his boozy breath brushing against the skin of Lou’s arm that fell to his side. “What’s he gonna wear? How he’s gonna act? What spot will he claim on the charts? You have no idea how I miss the times when I would just go on the stage of some dingy bar, wearing jeans with holes on my ass, sitting on a stool and singing my heart out even if for the bartender only. I was so much happier then, you know?” He looked up, searching for something in Louis’ gaze. Of course, he didn’t fucking know, yet he still nodded in hopes Styles would say something more. “Yeah, I was broke… living from gig to gig but it was all so much more real than whatever the fuck my shows are right now. Lipsyncing to my own songs, running around the stage, making a fool out of myself, waving flags of communities I am not allowed to be a part of.” 

The expression on brunette's face grew even more tortured, but he just _had to_ ask. "What does that mean?" He had a good idea what it meant, and it's not like he hasn’t had his doubts before but now that Harry was so close to admitting it… fuck, he needed him to say it. 

“Wish you could see the disappointment on Twitter when a day after waving a rainbow flag they get to see me on yet another damage control pap walk with girls that all look exactly the same.” He rubbed his tired eyes with a fist, his other hand still fumbling with Louis’ t-shirt. “You know sexual ambiguity is only cool if it gets shit sold to queer kids? Gives press something to write about?” 

Well, he maybe hasn't really said it, but he might as well have. "Is that what it is about then? Being closeted?” 

“Partially.” The boy admitted, and the dark clouds hanging above the writer's head started to clear out just then. Maybe the whole book wasn’t going to be such a disaster now that he had _this_. 

There was still something Tomlinson was not sure about and taking his luck into account, he was sure going to ask. Perhaps he’s going to get lucky this time as well. “Why not leave then?” He couldn’t understand why the solution wasn’t as obvious to the brunette as it was to him. That’s exactly what he would’ve done if he was in the situation Harry was in. 

“So I fade into nothing?” Harry scoffed again. Louis found the guts to look at the boy, and when he did, his eyes were still closed shut. "You think somebody would sign me if I was kicked off by Sony at the peak of my career? They would think something was wrong with me or there’s some dirt on me… no way I would recover from this.” 

“You could just go back to the small life, couldn’t you?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing to do. “You’re financially set for several lifetimes. Just release stuff on your own, independently… go back to playing smaller venues. You know… the simpler life.” Louis started fiddling with his fingers, gliding his eyes around the room to occupy himself just a bit. 

The tugs on the cotton of his t-shirt started getting less frantic and lazier as the time went back. "I thought about that actually." Harry admitted. "My ego doesn’t appreciate the vision.” He laughed gutturally. 

“You do that a lot?” The writer asked after some time passed. The brunette looked at him with confusion in his eyes. “Read about yourself?” He cleared the question out.

“Not anymore, no… you probably know why, you’ve googled me.” 

Louis found himself lost for words again this evening. He never really struggled with talking, but now, it was different, the issue was much more serious. He was desperate to speak, but nothing was coming. He wasn't going to lie and say that soft huffs of breath, emerging from Harry’s parted lips haven’t relieved him. Yeah, the peace was going to cost him the comfort of his own sleep, but then, it was a small price he had to pay for revelations of that evening.

Oh, right. That reminded him of the recorder that was still going on in the background, immortalizing the silence in the room. He switched it off, making sure to create a copy of the lengthy audio and put it on the cloud to make sure it doesn't go missing. Maybe he was a bit overcautious, but he knew his luck, and if he had a way to ensure he’s not going to lose it if his phone suddenly decides to malfunction, he was going to take all the necessary measures. 

It didn’t take long for him to turn the lights off, change into his pyjamas and slip under the covers, at least however much was left for him since Harry laid on them, the bedding trapped under his sleeping silhouette. 

-

The darkness flooding the hotel room made it extremely difficult for Louis to assess what time it could’ve been when he woke up. He felt that it was late, later than he was used to waking up, but there was nothing he could judge the situation by. He was confused for a hot minute, not remembering drawing the curtains shut before going to sleep but then, he regained at least some of his brain functionality and remembered that he was not the only one sleeping in the room that night.

He _knew_ that he wasn't going to find anything, and yet, he still patted the space behind him with a flattened palm. Just as he thought, empty. He sighed deeply, eyes fell closed, and he couldn't bring himself to open them. A series of grunts, mixed with profanity, pushed out of his lungs in his daily ritual and only then he could open his eyes again. 

“Hello.” Harry grinned at him from the corner to which he must’ve dragged the armchair he was sitting in because Louis remembered vividly that it was not where it was situated when he went to sleep. He sounded raspier like he had just woken up and he knew that was not the truth, but somehow, he liked the vision he created in his head. The brunette was holding a book in his lap, his silhouette lit by sunlight peeking through the side of a curtain. 

There was a lot of questions bouncing off the walls of his skull, and he was still not conscious enough to answer any of them. First of all, what the fuck was the boy doing in his room? He knew damn well that he left before and decided to return, the reason unclear to him. “Thought you’d never get up.” The annoyingly large smile wouldn't go away, and it brought another question to the pile, what the fuck was he so happy about?

“You’ve thought well. I’m not going anywhere.” He sighed and patted the nightstand to find the phone he remembered leaving there. Seeing that it was almost two in the afternoon, filled his head with quite a few F words. That was not exactly what he planned for himself. He was supposed to get up early (at least a bit earlier than usual), go have all the bread he could eat for breakfast and just stroll Paris, being nauseatingly tourist-y, annoying all locals. “Ah, shit.” He cursed and contradicting himself, got up from the bed, not giving Styles a single look as he crossed the room and found himself in the bathroom. He hadn’t felt the pressure those drinks he had the night before were putting on his bladder until he got up.

Harry’s presence hasn’t necessarily affected his morning (well, let’s just pretend that it was still morning) routine; he took his time, paying no mind to the singer who was probably still sitting on the chair, his entire face aching from smiling for no reason.

After he had his time to shower and brush his teeth, Louis found himself in front of a dresser beside which he had his suitcase. He forgot to prepare himself anything to wear which led to him having only a towel wrapped around his hips and yeah, it wouldn’t have been that bad _if_ Harry hadn’t decided to open the curtains and let the sunlight in. But of course, he did exactly that.

Before he had the time to open his luggage, he noticed the absolute mess around it, clothes scattered everywhere, a stray sock even where Styles was sat on the other end of the room. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t aware that he made the mess, of course, he was. Living out of a suitcase wasn't very easy, even for him but still, that was no justification to whatever the hell was going on around there.

“What are these?” Louis wondered out loud, his eyebrows furrowed when in the process of stuffing his clothes back into the suitcase, he found a pack of brand new underwear, definitely something he’d remember if he was the one who put it there, he knew he wasn’t. 

The taller man seemed to grasp what he was talking about even without seeing the object in question, his reaction fully giving away that he was, in fact, the culprit. “I took a pair of yours when I showered here, sorry. Hope they’re okay.” He explained as if it was the most normal thing to do. Louis didn’t know whether it was him who was weird or Harry because for him, borrowing some stranger’s pants was everything but ordinary. His room was a few steps away from Louis, for fuck’s sake!

Louis opened the packaging and slipped a pair out of it, silently marvelling over the softness of the fabric they were made of. “Three-pack of Calvins for one pair of three quid pants that were most likely ripped? Yeah, seems about fair.” He scoffed, stretching the waistband and compared it to his frame as he sat on the carpet, the towel held by his clasped thighs and god’s grace at this point. 

“There are men who would pay hundreds for used underwear, this is not even close to the extreme.” Harry’s silhouette jumped as he shrugged.

“Yeah? You’re one of those men? God damn, what a revelation. Will sell that book in no time!" Tomlinson joked, and at first, he regretted mentioning his project, considering that Harry always dimmed down after hearing about it; this time, it was different, he just rolled his eyes to the ceiling. 

“Ah, the secret's out, I guess." Harry answered. "Well, now that you know, hit me up when you have some goodies to hook me up.” His face scrunched similarly to Louis’ with the disgust his own words caused.

“That’s absolutely repulsive.” The writer spat out. “You couldn’t afford it either way.” He laughed and got up from the floor, making sure the towel stays put. He toed to the bathroom where he put one of his new pairs of underwear on. “You want to take the other two? You’ve taken only one of mine, it’s only fair.” He yelled from the bathroom.

“Of course not, they wouldn’t fit me anyway.” Brunette shook his head, his hair ruffled just a bit with the movement.

Louis strutted out of the bathroom and checked himself out in the full-length mirror. "Well, thankfully, they fit me. Now I can take a tasteful ass pic for my Instagram.” He slapped himself in his bum and laughed at his joke before he proceeded to further clothe himself.

“Your fans will surely be delighted. Don’t forget the hashtag, my calvins or whatever.” 

“They’re not paying me shit, won’t be putting no hashtag.” He hasn’t commented on the fans thing. It was really quite amusing that Harry thought he even had any. See, some writers did have them, but Louis was not one of those. He had followers, though. Even if he hadn’t posted anything on his account in literally _years,_ he still had a decent number, all of the fifty thousand he gathered, followed him after he was started being seen with Harry so here’s who was to blame or thank for that, depends on how you look at it.

None of them spoke for the longest time, and after Louis finished getting himself ready to go, he debated what he should do with the boy who still didn’t get the memo that he was heading out. He circled the room a couple of times, seemingly being busy even if he was ready long ago. 

“Have some plans for today? You look like a man on the mission.” Harry finally observed from above his opened novel, and Louis thanked the gods that he finally noticed. He was never really great when it came to getting rid of people. He shivered at the memory of his first-ever one-night stand and the struggle he went through to get the boy out of the apartment he still shared with his mother at the time.

He learnt from his mistakes and was way better with kicking people out when he had to but, in that case, way better didn't mean he was any good. "I need some food in me, real fucking quick or there's a big chance that I'll die.” He hasn’t looked at the man whom he was answering, too busy with flattening the t-shirt on his impossibly flat stomach and that only meant one thing- he was seconds from starving to death. He ignored the deep chuckle to which he got accustomed quite fast and continued. “Then… I don’t know, probably a walk around the city? You know, being a tourist and such.” 

Harry’s book closed with a loud thud as the man stood up and tossed the novel on the seat. “Oh, you’ve never been to France?” The dark eyebrow cocked a bit, eyes stuck in Louis’ reflection.

“I haven’t been anywhere really. I mean… before this.” Louis shook his head at his own words and patted his pockets, making sure he has everything he could ever need. “You’re doing something today?” A question left his lips subconsciously, he didn't mean to ask yet, but he thought that it was exactly what Harry wanted him to do. The suspicion confirmed as soon as a bright grin appeared on brunette’s lips. “You can tag along if you’re free. Show me some places because… yeah, I’m clueless.” 

Styles shrugged flippantly at the proposition and mumbled. “Okay.” Not that long after they were walking the streets of Paris with all eyes stuck to the two of them, the interest caused by Harry’s unconventional attire which was the only way he wasn’t getting recognized. Louis didn’t mind. He knew that if he hadn’t dressed like that, they’d still be a spectacle and that would be probably way worse.

“Well, that just makes absolutely no sense.” Louis scoffed, breaking up the streak of babbling that slipped from Harry’s mouth as the boy passionately explained to his friend some conspiracy theory he read about. It was sport-related, so, _technically,_ it should have interested him, but then, it was the American kind of football, and that’s not something he had any knowledge about, nor he wanted to have. But hey, at least he was not the one who had to think about the topics to raise.

Normally, they never really had problems with making conversation, always had something to talk about and if they haven't, they were silent, and neither of them minded. But now, Louis felt like they’ve ran out of things to discuss and the occurrence wasn’t very surprising, considering that they’ve spent the entire day together, sightseeing, eating more food than they should’ve and heavily abusing their legs. 

Tomlinson’s comment hasn't discouraged the younger guy at all, and he still dove deeper into the conspiracy Louis couldn’t care less about. “Okay, mister paranoid, I hate to cut you off, but I think we both need another drink." The shorter man laughed and took their empty glasses into his hands. “What can I get you?” He asked as he slid his bum off the seat in the booth they were occupying. 

The singer’s eyebrows furrowed just a bit, eyes squinted as he contemplated the choice of his next drink. He went through quite a selection and Louis already pitied him for the hangover he was bound to suffer the next day. “Appletini.” He bit his cheek, making sure that he made the right choice before Louis left their seat with a deep sigh caused by his friend’s order.

He wasn’t quite sure if Harry did that on purpose, just to fuck with him but somehow, he always ended up ordering the most embarrassing stuff when it was his turn to hit up the bartender. Well, complaining wouldn't make any difference, so he went to the bar, putting the glasses that carried remnants of their previous drinks on the bar, waiting for bartender's attention as the man was serving another client. 

It was his turn to order when he realized that he hasn’t thought about his drink; his brain went full-on panic mode, shutting down under pressure, names of every drinks he knew evaporating from his head, only the appletini stuck around, but that was not a viable option, he refused to be _that_ guy, even if he kind of already was, by association.

“Okay, it's gonna be an apple martini…” He thought that dodging the humiliating name would've made things any better, but it absolutely did not. "And for me… let me get old-fashioned.” He was satisfied with his improvised choice and the way he managed to make it clear that it was not him who wanted the fruity drink. He sat on the barstool, his head propped on his elbow and waited, observing how the blonde bartender prepared their beverages with his skilful hands. 

“I can’t believe you made me order _this._ ” The writer spat out and rolled his eyes the second, he came back with their drinks. He set the fancy glass in front of his friend and sat down where the seat already developed an imprint of his buttocks. 

Harry mimicked his action and rolled his eyes as well, bringing the rim of a glass in between his plump lips, taking a little sip of the chilled drink. “Don’t be such a baby.” He scoffed, kicking Louis’ shin under the table. “I would’ve never thought you have such fragile sense of masculinity, I’m quite disappointed really.” He shook his head, hair shuffled around his head, getting messed up even further after the entire time of sitting under a hat. 

“I think the toxic masculinity kind of goes out of the window with the first dick you've sucked, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Louis cocked his eyebrow, trying to provoke any kind of reaction but it didn’t really look like he succeeded.

He sure didn’t. Although, the little coy smirk he got in reaction to his teasing could have been considered a win. “Of course, I wouldn’t.” Harry's face stayed in the constant state of playful as he sipped his embarrassing drink and tapped the fingers of his left hand on the tabletop. “Oh, I was meant to ask you about something, and I never got round to doing that…" The boy stuck his eyes somewhere above Louis, and the older one could only think whether he was avoiding his inquisitive gaze. Perhaps Styles wasn’t nearly as comfortable as he posed to be with him knowing about his little secret.

“Yeah?” Tomlinson encouraged the question that seemed to get stuck in Harry’s throat. The difficulty of voicing the inquiry brought the writer thousands of possible options that would’ve been so hard to ask about.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts and put his empty glass on the table as he propped his chin on his elbow. “Are you coming with me to Japan? I forgot to ask Jeff about that.” His question met with an exaggerated scoff that unwillingly slipped out of Louis’ lips in reaction to the innocence of the question. With the hesitation that shone in those earthy eyes, he would’ve at least expected to be asked about something that would make him uncomfortable and not… work.

“I guess so, yeah.” Louis nodded, his face twitching at the taste of the drink he was sipping, watered down with the ice cube that had time to melt almost completely in the time he was nursing the glass in between his fingers.

The singer nodded in response and hurried the older one with a look, so he finishes his drink faster. Of course, that’s what Louis did. “Okay, good… cool.” He murmured more to himself than to anybody else and grabbed the glass from his friend’s side, leaving the booth to get their last drinks of the night since they’ve both had enough, especially that they had quite an early morning the next day.

Louis was pretty sure that his gaze would turn Harry into stone when he returned with two of the most obnoxious drinks he’s ever seen in his life. 

“Voilà!” The brunette grinned widely as he set the glasses on the table, still getting thundered with the angry gaze from across the table. “Oh, would you just stop?” He scoffed and slipped a metal straw in between his parted lips, sucking the pinkish liquid into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing ever so slightly as he sucked on the straw and Louis would’ve kicked him if he didn’t look so fucking… ugh.

“I don’t think Jeff would’ve been very pleased with your choice of beverages.” Louis only managed to throw before he started drinking the fruity concoction, tossing the straw onto the table because he hasn’t fallen that low just yet. 

He thought he’s gonna piss his friend off with that remark, but somehow, this day nothing really seemed to go up to his plan. Instead, he got even cockier smirk in response as Harry slid the straw out of his mouth, the stainless-steel utensil clinking against the thin glass. “I don’t think I give a fuck about what Jeff thinks.” He shrugged and returned to his drink.

Louis was rushing through the beverage, drunk and borderline embarrassed. It’s not like the drink was horrible or anything, it wasn't, but there was still this layer of humiliation that stuck to him as soon as the glass was set in front of him. He didn’t think it was fragile masculinity, he was never really concerned about how people see him but then, how do you explain that he felt uneasy, sipping on the ‘girly’ drink under judging gazes of locals, sipping serious, classic drinks similar to which he was drinking earlier? Maybe he cared about the opinions of strangers a little bit, and that little bit was already way too much.

They’ve finished their drinks in silence and left after Harry insisted on paying their tab. Of course, Louis knew that however much they’ve totalled that night was not going to make any indentation on Styles' loaded account, but he had his principles which he rarely broke, and it didn't really matter to him whether the person who wanted to pay for him had hundreds of billions gathered in cash and different assets or five quid to their name. In the end, he gave up and let the boy pay, not without the most obnoxious roll of his eyes, though.

After they rode the elevator up to their floor (perks of getting drunk in a hotel bar), they somehow found themselves in Harry's suite, and Louis started questioning why the hell haven’t they been hanging out in that one instead of his room that was a size of this suite’s bathroom. Only after it hit him that it was probably Styles, trying to keep simulation of a happy couple who was sharing the room, even though Tomlinson was already aware that the ‘girlfriend’ wasn’t sleeping there.

“Harry?” Louis finally got the guts to bring Harry’s attention to himself after a while of contemplating whether he should ask the question he had ready ever since their last night’s conversation.

The boy was taking off his heavy rings that most of the time, embellished his slender fingers and put all of them on the antique dresser. The whole room had this kind of vibe. Like it might as well have been a palace chamber, but all of it looked quite tacky, making the man wonder how much of those antiques were actually real. 

He looked at the crystal chandelier, hanging above Styles’ head as the boy unbuttoned his shirt, letting his skin breathe after a whole day of being restrained in a hoodie. Louis was not even mad at the singer, shamelessly flaunting his impressive frame, blatantly, right in front of the man who never seemed to have gotten rid of his ‘baby fat’, leaving him with physique far less than envy-inducing. How could he be angry when the brunette tortured himself in a goddamned hoodie in the heat only for them to remain unbothered throughout their stroll? 

He couldn’t; that’s why he hasn’t even let his eyes roll at the sight of the chiselled torso, mocking him with every breath that flexed Harry’s muscles.

Only when the boy sat on the armchair, opposite of his friend who took the love seat in the lounge corner of the room, he brought his attention to Louis, green eyes urging the writer to ask a question that he felt coming. 

“Have you had a lot of these…” He cut his question when he met with Harry’s intrigued gaze, one of his eyebrows higher than the other. “Relationships?” He finished with a scoff at the word, so ridiculous after what he’s learned about the boy before.

There was a big pause in the conversation that had barely started, and with every passing second, Louis lost hope for getting an answer. He felt he was right when his eyes found Harry’s pained expression. “I really cannot talk about this.” The brunette pressed his lips together, avoiding his friend’s eyes. 

“Oh, no, no…” Tomlinson shook his head frantically, trying to convey his message voicelessly, but he still knew he had to say something. "It's fine, you don't have to… I wasn't asking for the book. Just so we're clear." He explained himself, even if he wasn’t really sure whether he was asking for the book or not. Well, to be completely honest, everything he talked about with Harry was potentially for the book, that was just the specificity of their relationship, but right then, he was asking from sheer, personal nosiness. He doubted that he had any professional incentives behind the question. 

They’ve sat in silence, broken only by their breaths that were particularly loud due to the temperature that was way too high, yet not high enough for either to be bothered with tweaking the air conditioning. Louis felt Harry's eyes on him, and he’d give everything to know what exactly was going on in his head at the moment. Maybe it was selfish because he felt like shit for bringing up the boy’s relationships. In theory, it wasn’t anything _that_ bad, but tell that to the singer, who sat with a clear misery painted in his expression, carefully gazing at his friend whenever he felt he wouldn’t get caught, he was though.

Not too long after, Louis said their final goodbye, not getting a response from the brunette and left, making sure to set the AC to a comfortable temperature, lying to himself that it would’ve, at least, take some weight off the question he asked that pulled such an extreme reaction from his friend.

His guilty conscience wouldn’t let him sleep, the thoughts bouncing off the walls of his skull and rumbling loudly, the imaginary volume increasing every time he managed to close his eyes for longer than a blink. He found himself overthinking, doing the thing he knew how to do expertly. The first idea that he got was that Harry is going to distance himself completely again and his suffering, both professional and personal, will return. He couldn’t stand the idea because _fuck_ , it would be awkward if Styles resented him with two of them stuck on a bus together, still the majority of the tour ahead of them. 

He was somewhere in between planning the speech he was going to give Harry’s guitarist, the man with whom the singer seemed to be the closest out of his band, so they can switch their bunks to avoid the discomfort of living with a boy who couldn’t stand him, when his phone buzzed on the nightstand that was far less glamorous than the one he saw in Harry’s room, that one hasn’t even pretended to be luxurious. 

The text he got was short, yet carried a huge weight within the four letters it contained. The terrifying thought of Harry hating him had lifted off his shoulders the moment he read through the two words he received and was replaced with more compassion he had ever felt for the guy. Making him pretend that he’s not who he was, was fucked up enough and that was something he couldn’t even imagine living with. But then, making the boy pose for the pictures, building his fuckboy persona around fake relationships was a whole different thing, and from what the brunette had texted him, there was ‘ _a lot_ ’ of these.

He wanted to do something, ease the boy in the discomfort he caused, but in reality, there was nothing he could do that would make things any better. All he could think about was that this whole deal was more than he ever bargained for, doubting that he’s equipped enough to handle the fragile situation appropriately.

The thing was… Jeff probably had never even seen a possibility of Louis learning about the skeletons the manager had in his closet. Turned out, that his careful selection of a biographer had backfired on him. See, he explicitly told Louis during one of their phone calls that his writing style was not exactly the only reason why he hired him. The second motivation was the fact that both Louis and Harry were raised in pretty much the same area, were a similar age, and as Azoff said, he could see them become friends. 

The bond the man anticipated to form, was a tool to exploit the singer’s trust, show his vulnerability and make him share whatever there was to share. What Jeff hadn’t seen coming, was the fact that during the countless hours the men spent together, they will connect enough for Harry to share the things which the manager most likely wouldn’t like him to share. This whole thing was extremely problematic both to the manager and to Louis as well.

Tomlinson sighed with the strain his overthinking put on his intoxicated brain and decided to fully snip the power to his cerebrum, leaving him thoughtless, ready to fall asleep. Before he let himself doze off, he typed out a message in his sleepy haze and sent it to Harry, hoping that his simple “ _I’m sorry._ ” will read as sincere because it might have been the most genuine thing he has ever said to the boy.


	10. Chapter 10

Cold blows of air licked the nape of Louis' neck as he sat below the air conditioning unit, hung on the wall of the huge ballroom he was situated in. Looking at it from planning perspective, the table set-up wasn't the best thought out, although he wasn't really a person who would ever nag about too much AC, especially during the heatwave that reached England all of a sudden.

The whole setting was very out of his element, and everything in his body told him to bolt the fuck out of there, but then, that's exactly what he agreed to, even if he wasn't completely aware what he was consenting to. Therefore, he decided to file the whole outing as a work thing because, to be honest, it was work. Somehow, this realisation made the event just a bit more bearable. 

It was only the morning prior that Harry proposed that the writer goes with him to this extremely posh, charity gala, filled with a plethora of the most influential people in the world that happened to be in London at the moment. Of course, Styles was one of these people. The short notice gave Louis a very little time to think the whole gala through, and that's how he ended up in there, a place he stood out like a sore thumb in, the crowd of these suited gentlemen and their glamorous plus ones with gowns worth more than a year of rent on Lou's mom's apartment.

The whole thing was extremely ridiculous and obnoxious because _fuck,_ some of those people treated the thing like a runway show and completely forgot what the gala was really about. He thought all of it was very much unnecessary. He came in a suit he bought for the launch of his first book, and he looked equally as boring as everybody else.

Well… not everybody. One of the reasons why he stood up so much was Harry, Harry fucking Styles who would probably die if he had to wear something as awfully pedestrian as a black suit. Right now, he was owning the shit out of a Gucci ensemble in the most obnoxious pattern Louis could ever imagine- leopard.

To say that it was difficult not to get self-conscious while standing by his side was an understatement; he felt like a hobo, even though, for his standards, he looked quite dashing himself. He really tried this time, knowing that he was going to be all around with all those rich people, he spent an extra hour in front of a mirror, preparing for the evening and he was pleased with himself but let’s be real, there was not one person that had anything on the singer, whether it was a man or a woman. It looked like some of them really _tried,_ and props for that, of course, but nothing else came close to that preposterously flashy suit that somehow, _worked._

The quick succession in which he was introduced to all the different people made him feel very overwhelmed, so much so that he remembered maybe five names of the people they were sharing the table with and it was only because he really tried with their closest company. Well, not exactly… he remembered more names but matching them to people’s faces was a whole another story.

He was never really good with memorising names, hence his frustration from meeting new guests what seemed to be every second. It's not like he ever needed to know these people, not that their brief introduction could've been even deemed 'getting to know' someone in the first place. 

The bottom line was- Louis only came there to observe Harry in this kind of environment, fancy food and open bar he was promised, all of those delivered sooner or later. He was pretty much prepared for spending his entire evening meeting people he didn't give a shit about left and right, but then, the introductions stopped, and the secret motives Styles had from the get-go uncovered when they were left alone, rarely getting bothered by people who sought contact with the singer. 

Louis was thankful that Harry decided to introduce him as 'his friend' rather than actually tell those people who he really was. And yeah, he knew that this whole friend title was complete bullshit, but then, he'd rather have these people not know that he tears folks like them apart for a living. It didn't seem like unreasonable thing at all, but then, Harry could've just told them the truth and yet, he didn't.

The feeling was bittersweet because he couldn’t get rid of the thought that maybe, Styles was just ashamed of him and he wouldn’t blame the boy if that had been the case but either way, he was glad to just be ‘Harry’s friend’ for the night.

He looked around the ballroom, searching for the only person he was interested in (well, besides the one that sat to his left). It was really unfair that out of hundreds of people, gathered in that room, the one person he'd like to meet didn't know Harry at all. He hasn't really expected his friend to know the man when he spotted him in the crowd and double-checked whether he identified him correctly. After all, it's not like Styles would have any business in knowing any footie players, but well, he still had his hopes up, until they were crushed not that long after seeing the player for the first time. 

They were somewhere in between their entrees that never seemed to end. The whole dining style was quite foreign to Louis who wasn’t used to it, the fanciest dinner he ever had was nowhere close to whatever the fuck he was participating in. Thankfully, he had Harry on his side whom he could observe if he ever had a doubt or just ask since he felt comfortable enough to do that. See, Harry didn’t make fun of him if he wasn’t sure which piece of cutlery to use and even if he felt like having FOUR fucking forks in all different sizes and purposes was a huge overkill, he still didn’t want to seem uncouth and embarrass the man who trusted in his manners enough to even bring him there.

Another absurdly large plate was set before him, carrying only a complicated-looking concoction that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. He swallowed thickly at the sight of the only thing he recognised, the black, shiny pearls of caviar that were there more for decoration than anything else. He didn't know how the fuck did that even happen, but somehow, he became a person intimidated by food. Well, not _intimidated;_ he was just a picky eater, and sometimes he was scared to try new things, a trait that was there with him ever since his mom started introducing solid food to his toothless mouth over two decades ago. 

He threw a confused look Harry's way in order to get a clue which piece of silverware he was supposed to use right then, but the brunette seemed equally clueless, so Louis looked the other way and trusted the lady that handled one of the spoons with utmost confidence. He grabbed the same utensil, and this time, it was his friend who followed his lead.

Louis nudged his halfway-filled wineglass closer to his plate, so he has something to rinse his mouth with if the dish turns out to be bad, took a deep breath and went for it, feeling a curious gaze of those green eyes he knew quite well already.

God's blessing turned out to be with him this time as well, and he was not going to puke, even if the thing was truly bizarre on his tongue. He managed to finish it, which wasn't that hard considering that it took him literally two bites to empty the plate. The manners he didn't have shone particularly brightly when he reached for the wineglass after an acceptable period of time passed. For an unskilled eye, it looked like he enjoyed the fishy thing he just ate, even though he certainly did not.

Tomlinson leaned his body on the other leg, letting the right one rest from the strain he put on it before. He brought the champagne flute to his eye-level and with great interest, observed as the bubbles raced to the surface against the thin glass. “Are these always this boring?” A question slipped through his lips as he looked at the stage where a middle-aged man in a well-tailored tux declared something that from where the two of them were standing, sounded like a bunch of gibberish. It was just after midnight, which only meant that they’ve been in there for four hours and with every passing second, Louis could feel his spirit leaving his body, crushed under the heavy weight of boredom that was only briefly lifted off his shoulder when something interesting happened.

"This one isn't that bad." Harry pushed a deep sigh out of his lung and took a sip of his champagne. "Although it might be because you're in here to provide me with some entertainment." The plump, booze-slicked lips bent in a smirk, brightly lit with a superfluity of crystal chandeliers that instead of making the entire room seem regal and expensive, made it look borderline tacky.

Louis scoffed at the revelation, his reaction bringing the attention of an older man that stood quite a distance from their two. Thankfully, even with Harry's ridiculous suit, they apparently didn't spark enough interest for the man to stick his gaze around, so he quickly got back to the conversation he had with some other people, none of them familiar. "Thank God I'm so amusing with my pathetic efforts not to seem like an uncivilised Neanderthal." His eyes rolled to the chandelier hanging above them. He would never admit that, but for a split second, he might have been praying for the thing to snap and crush him to death. What a glamorous way to go.

It wasn't that he was offended by the way Harry spoke about him or, at least, that was not what he wanted it to be but then… his ego might have been just slightly insulted with his subject's tone, and he really couldn't do anything to rub the sting away, it was just there, and he was sure it would pass quickly.

There was no denying that the two of them were from two different worlds, and despite what Jeff seemed to believe, they were two polar opposites. Louis had no place in the world where one goes to events like that and casually drops half a million out of his pocket for charity. No place in between all of those designer suits, gowns and those diamonds embedded in precious metals, exhibited on the earlobes, wrists, necks or fingers of all the guests. He was never a jewellery person, it was not only an excuse to justify trading in the golden locket he received as a gift for his christening for weed money, it was just how he was. And even though he never wore anything of that sort, he felt sort of bare, his fingers itching for a ring he knew he would've hated as soon it was there.

Somehow, Harry turned out to be way better in reading Louis than it worked the other way around. Although, the brunette had an unfair advantage of countless hours of media training that pretty much taught him how to act in a way that wouldn't let people see through him. The frown on writer's face hasn't gone unnoticed, filling the boy with need to explain his poor choice of words almost instantly. "This is not what I've meant, not at all." He pursed his lips just a bit after emptying the flute that was taken off his hands with impressive speed by an elegantly clothed waiter. Louis took the last sip of his beverage and rid of his vessel as well. "I'm tired, can we leave or are you having too much fun?" He quirked his dark eyebrow, lips curved in a playful smirk which gained another roll of blue eyes.

They were already in the car that came out of nowhere to get them after they've left the palace. Louis wasn't sure whether it was Harry who took care of the issue when he wasn't looking or that it was a customary service included in those kinds of events. Either way, it was too convenient to ask questions, and he slid to the backseat right after Harry, since he was going to get off earlier.

A simple solution to his homesickness was staying at his own apartment for the few days they had in London. His growing hatred for Azoff made him mysteriously forget about informing the boss of the fact that he wouldn't be staying at the hotel and he still ended up paying for an empty room that he already theoretically checked into, so his absence goes unnoticed by the man.

He was way more excited about getting to his apartment that it would be appropriate. See, the last few weeks he was staying in a multi-million-dollar mansion and luxurious hotel rooms. His own flat was maybe a few notches above sleeping in the coffin bed he had in the tour bus, but it was his, and he was fucking excited to see the place, even if for just a couple of days. Therefore, after he gave the driver his address, he was pretty much sitting on pins and needles in anticipation.

No words were exchanged between two men on the backseat of a Lexus that Louis would've called luxurious even though it was really quite simple, no fireworks. They drove through the familiar streets of London, Lou's eyes stuck to the window, observing the neighbourhoods they were passing, recognising some places since Andy lived in that part of the city. His lips quirked a bit when he felt the warmth spilling throughout his body, sourcing somewhere deep in his chest and travelling through his veins to the tips of his fingers and toes. Never before he realisedrealised how attached he was to the city until he was separated from it. 

He wouldn't mind being driven around longer, but the car reached the destination and came to a halt, right by the entrance of the building Louis' apartment was a part of. A surge of excitement trickled in his body as he thanked the driver and awkwardly got out of the backseat, tripping over his own feet from the alcohol-induced clumsiness; the God was on his side once again, barely saving him from face-planting on the harsh, concrete blocks that paved the street.

His eyes rose to take in the most ordinary building one could ever see, nothing distinguishable in the grey, cold construction that apparently meant a whole fucking lot to him. He let himself take in the view for a while, grinning stupidly at the unimpressive piece of architecture, not turning even to glance at the car when he heard it drive away, taking the boy who deserved a goodbye that he didn’t get, the farewell forgotten somewhere in between excited squirming and noticing the subtle changes the neighbourhood went through during his absence.

It was only when he decided that perhaps, it was long enough to be staring at a building that gave literally no reason to be stared at, when he heard crunching of small stones and sand particles that was surprisingly prominent in the unusual quietness of the city. He turned, startled just a bit since he hasn’t seen anyone approaching, although he wouldn’t put missing somebody above him, especially now, that he hasn’t really paid attention to anything other than the thought that he was going to be home, at last.

"What are you doing here?" He asked dumbfounded. Whatever it was that he was expecting, Harry was the last thing he'd predict seeing upon turning. The boy stood there, on the curb with his eyes stuck to the pavement, hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants. The sound seemed to be a consequence of the brunette shifting his body weight to his other foot.

Louis wasn't sure how the hell he managed to overlook Harry getting out of the car after him, but there he was, mouth slightly parted, a question in his gaze.

There was nothing coming for the longest of times, and the writer was pretty sure that it was only him, overexaggerating in anticipation. That realisation didn't help him with getting more and more impatient as the seconds passed. "You're mad at me." Styles mumbled, and if it hadn't been for their countless tipsy evenings together, Louis would've never understood what the boy had said.

Turns out that the singer wasn't nearly as good at reading the writer as it might have appeared that he was. Even thought of still being irritated with Harry at this insignificant comment that was only a poor choice of words on his part, sincerely apologised for at that, made him giggle. Yeah, he was at that stage of his drunkenness, neither of them really passed on the open bar, letting themselves indulge in more drinks than they probably should've, considering that they were under careful gazes of other people and _photographers_ with their eyes fixed on Harry, ready to capture anything worth money in the tabloid business. Thankfully, the alcohol didn’t do any significant damage, other than leaving Louis embarrassingly giggly.

There was no use standing on the curb and talking through the issue that was not there, to begin with. Louis nodded at his friend, inviting him upstairs and after a brief ride in a shaky elevator, they were already on the doormat in front of the heavy-duty door, covered with paint that chipped here and there. It took him way longer than he'd like to admit to fit the key into the hole, his trembling fingers not doing a very good job at the moment but when he managed to do that, he pushed the door open and was hit with the familiar smell of his apartment. It wasn't necessarily leaning towards any side of being pleasant or not, it just smelled like smog, the city. He wasn't sure if it was his paranoia or he could smell just the tiniest bit of cigarette smoke, a remainder of the disgusting habit he managed to kick not that long ago. 

“So… this is where I live.” He stepped aside to let his friend enter the flat. There were not many things distinguishable in the darkness, lit only by the orange streetlights seeping through the windows. “Don’t get intimidated, I know you’re not used to such luxury.” His hand patted a wall to his side before his fingers stumbled upon the light switch, one movement of the index finger and the whole area lit up.

A silent sigh left the writer's lips when he looked around the familiar space, the warmth deep inside spilling yet again all over his body. He was home, and even if it was only three days before he has to hit the road again, it was amazing.

Harry was still chuckling at the joke when the host lifted his gaze to the light fixture, only to confirm his guess that one of the bulbs had died during his absence, explaining the reason why the room was dimmer than he remembered in to be. It didn't take Harry long to make himself comfortable. The leopard print jacket was carelessly thrown over a barstool under the small kitchen island, and the brunette occupied himself with snooping around Louis' bookcase, not saying a word.

The whole scenery was weirdly reminiscent of the time when the writer was invited to his friend's bedroom for the first time. He was curious to see what secrets did the boy hide, and even though he tried to convince himself that it was strictly professional inquisitiveness caused by his occupation, that wasn't entirely the truth. He could only predict that Harry's nosiness wasn't ill-spirited at all, just as his, wasn't a display of his bad manners (well, maybe it was but whatever), and he let the singer explore.

What he hadn't taken under consideration when he decided to stay in his flat instead of a five-star hotel, was the fact that unlike the hotel, his apartment didn't have air conditioning and that inconvenience grew to monstrous sizes after long weeks of barely having to deal with places without AC. The simplest solution was opening the windows, and while it helped some, the lazy breeze wasn't nearly enough for him, especially in that stupid suit he was still confined in.

He reached for the remote and turned on the telly in an attempt to rid of the silence between them. Harry was still looking around, his face blank as he circled the flat and the lack of any expression weighed quite heavily on Lou’s shoulders.

With nothing better to do, he took off his jacket and shirt as well, knowing that if he had stayed in them, he’d sweat through the material in no time. Approaching the suitcase that one of his friends kindly transported from the hotel to his flat hadn’t taken long at all and from the endless pit of entangled material, he retrieved a pair of shorts he was used to wearing when the weather got too extreme. A few seconds later and his entire suit was draped over the armchair and Louis was getting more clothes out of his suitcase, trying to separate them in batches that would make sense.

It was only when he got the first load of laundry going that Harry cleared his throat, apparently as uncomfortable with the silence as the other guy. _Technically,_ it wasn't really quiet at all, there was a booming baritone of a sports commentator that gave their ears a purpose, but that's not exactly what they needed right now.

"Was it all just a ploy to get into my flat?" Louis chuckled as he fell onto the couch, right next to Harry, who took a seat right before. He passed the man an uncapped beer he retrieved from the fridge, a beverage was hopefully going to ease their misery just a bit.

“Ah, shit.” The younger guy sighed, working slender fingers through the buttons of his black shirt, encouraged by his friend’s partial nudity. “How did you know?” His body leaned to the empty seat next to him, a clumsy sip of beer moistened his lips as he tried not to spill it on the couch.

Tomlinson wasn't sure if he'd even be mad if his couch mysteriously caught on fire and self-destructed because now that he had a chance to sit on his own couch, it hasn't felt nearly as comfortable as he remembered it to be. Hell, right now, he was pretty much searching for a reason to get rid of the furniture and replace it with a smaller version of what was standing in Harry's living room (not that he could afford that, but that's beyond the point).

“You should stop overthinking shit. I wasn’t mad at you in the first place.” His elbow shot to the side and nudged Harry’s ribcage. The two of them were relaxing on the couch, watching a rerun of some insignificant footie game without much interest.

The corner of Lou's eye caught the grimace on his friend's face as he got back to the topic. It was weird because he was pretty sure that Harry followed him only to talk through the issue he made up in his head and yet, he looked like talking about it was the last thing on his agenda. "You really did well, Lou. I doubt that anybody caught that you're not one of them." A small smirk bent his lips, and the bottle travelled upwards to hide it. Even wrapped around the glass rim, the smile was visible in the way his eyes squinted.

“Are _you_ one of them?" The tone of the conversation changed with a question, that carried an existential dilemma. For some reason, Louis turned out to be the king of doing exactly that. He's never experienced it with any of his friends, but with Harry, he tended to drop those bombs of questions that left a lot of room for wondering. Add Styles' passion for overthinking, and you have a great recipe for hours-long conversations that left them emotionally drained most of the time.

Let’s just say that one of those chats was the last thing any of them needed at the moment. They were tired and quite fucking plastered at that. This was no state a person should ever delve into existential problems in. But then, who was there to blame other than Lou? It was exactly him who started it.

The shorter man hoped Harry wouldn’t bounce the ball back at him, maybe make a joke that would cut the topic at the source, before it has a chance to snowball into something even more complicated. “I think I am, yeah.” Well, here’s for ridding of the grim atmosphere they were getting swallowed by. The boy took a discrete glance at his friend and the reaction his words gained from him, but when he got nothing in return, he plastered his eyes to the numbers on the stove, showing that it was one in the morning already. "I don't want to be though. I never did."

The declaration further deepened the rabbit hole they were quickly falling into. They were awful together, really. Give the two of them, a few drinks and they’d talk each other to death. Maybe that’s why they’ve worked so well, maybe that’s why Louis had this ability to get the stuff out of Harry that he never should tell him in the first place. It was terrifying the hell out of the singer, the power Louis had over him, the power that made him spill anything he wanted him to spill but at the same time, he really appreciated having somebody to confide in, maybe for the first time since his career kicked off.

It didn’t seem like any of them was going to say anything. Louis was quite reluctant to take his turn at speaking because he just _knew_ that whatever he had to say, it would only drag out the conversation and he really wanted it to end.

Well, his plan of staying silent did not last long at all. It took one look on Harry’s pained expression to make him talk. He was wondering where exactly did it happen that he became so concerned about mister superstar’s feelings. “Wrong answer, you’re nothing like those assholes.” He found himself saying, using his light-hearted tone to hopefully loosen the atmosphere, even if just a bit.

Harry hasn't answered, he just straightened his body and gave Louis a look that spoke louder than any words he could've possibly come up with. It was still just a tad tortured, but then, there was something so positive hidden somewhere in the green, the golden flakes speckled all around his pupils melted and shone with so much gratitude, just as if he heard the biggest compliment somebody could've ever given him.

The singer wouldn’t take his eyes off Louis, making him just slightly uncomfortable because, _fuck,_ the writer still had problems with keeping eye-contact, the struggle leftovers from the period when that behaviour was understandable since then, half of the words that left his mouth were lies. Not now though, he wasn’t lying. Hell, he prided himself in his honesty that yeah, sometimes might have come across as brutal but well, he was only speaking his mind.

Only when delicate fingers, just a bit chilled from the bottle Harry was holding before, grazed the side of his jaw, Louis realisedrealised what was exactly happening. Nothing in the course of the evening foreshadowed the conclusion of the day, but he would be lying if he said he didn't like where the things were heading.

First of all, one of those conversations that had a tendency to last the whole night was bound to end as soon as their lips met and let’s just say that a kiss with Harry Styles wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. He wouldn’t mind kissing the boy sober, he was _hot_ and nice to him and what didn’t help his eagerness was the fact that he had a tendency to get clingy after a few drinks. So, it looked like a win-win in Lou’s eyes.

The anticipation caused a pleasant tingling somewhere deep in the writer’s gut, a shiver travelled through his whole body when a soft thumb rubbed through the stubble on the side of his jaw and only then, he was pulled closer. Their lips met halfway there, slotting together lazily as the two of them savoured every second of the tender moment.

It wasn't their first kiss, but _somehow,_ it kind of felt like it was. Yes, they were both quite tipsy at the moment, but unlike the first time, they were both in a similar state of intoxicated, still alert enough to be able to make a conscious decision and enjoy their gentle back and forth. Just as he remembered, Harry's lips were soft and plump, and if he had a say, he'd never end the moment.

 _Bliss_ was the word he would've used when asked to describe how it felt to kiss Harry Styles. Their lips were rubbing against each other leisurely, without a promise of something more than what it already was. It was sweet and gentle, reminded Louis of how his first kisses used to feel like, just before his raging hormones took control over his teenage body and he started seeking sexual release in every physical contact he had with any boy ever.

Just for the record, he wasn't some sex-crazed predator that would force somebody into something they didn't felt like doing, no. Luckily, it always kind of worked the way that the boys he hooked up with during that period, were similarly hormonal and horny every second of the day, which was convenient and at the time, he was not somebody who would deny a blowie if proposed one. Hell, he didn't know if now he would've been strong enough to do that.

With Harry, it felt innocent and very much different. Neither tried to take the lead and dominate the other one, neither went overboard and shoved their tongue where it wasn't welcome. It was just their lips, Harry's hands cupping his companion's jaw and the bitter taste of lager, lingering on both of their lips.

Before any of them could've gone too far, Harry drew back from the kiss and looked with the same dreamy expression on his face at Louis, who took a second to open his lids from where he closed them unknowingly. He tried to calm his laboured breath, but nothing seemed to work and all there was left for him to do was to pray that his friend doesn't notice, even if that was very unlikely.

Louis felt his face getting redder as the time went by and thanked the lucky stars that the bulb had busted and wasn't there to fully exhibit his silly blush. That's exactly how he felt, stupid. He kissed a whole lot of boys at the time, and there was rarely somebody who made his body react the way it reacted to Harry. It could've been some secret fascination he had with the boy, but then, he hasn't really felt that he even had something like that in himself. For the most part, he treated the boy as equal, and even though he was flattering himself with the statement greatly, the singer seemed to like his approach.

There was not a lot of things that could've explained his juvenile behaviour upon being kissed. See, he had some extreme reactions to kissing before, of course, he did. There were flutters in his chest if the partner was close to him, racing heart and even once in a while, a boner had popped up if the session got particularly steamy. But right now, it was different than all of those. He wasn't turned on, not at all. The kiss was so innocent and yet, he wanted more, not necessarily at that moment, he felt that he'd explode if they continued, but there was a part of him that hoped it wasn't the last time their lips met.

Of course, he was fully aware how extremely unprofessional and dangerous it was for them to delve deeper into this, whatever the fuck it actually was. Although, calling it 'a thing' was a big overstatement as it was. They've kissed twice. They haven't mentioned the first one, and Louis was pretty damn sure that they're not going to talk about the second one either. He needed to halt his horses before he gets his hopes up and gets disappointed because, _fuck_ , what business exactly would Harry Styles have in fooling around with him? None at all, precisely.

Louis needed to get away, even if for a moment. He felt like his heart could’ve been heard on Alaska, the sports commentators and the quiet murmur of the washing machine weren’t nearly enough to cover the prominent beating. It was stupid, he was fully aware it was. Maybe it was the fantasy he was not aware that he had of marrying somebody rich and successful; becoming a trophy husband. Really quite vain of him, of course, but then, there was not much he could've done about his stupidly juvenile thoughts, so, he let himself enjoy the momentary attention he got from Harry as he got up and closed the distance between him and the fridge, getting them another beer each without asking whether Harry even needed one in the first place.

He hoped that Styles would speak before he got back with the bottles, but nothing like that had happened. The silence between them was difficult in a whole different sense as the one when the boy thought that Louis was mad at him. The lack of communication frustrated the writer more and more, the way his guest was blatantly staring with his brows furrowed, adding to the feeling. In desperate attempt to escape his gaze, he snatched one of the Play Station controllers that were scattered on the coffee table, not where he remembered leaving them and that realisation only made him wonder how many times his friends abused the key he left for Andy (emergencies only, right?).

Only when Tomlinson waited for the game to boot Harry cleared his throat, looking at the second controller, uncertainty hidden in his gaze and Lou wasn’t really sure if those were the remnants from before or that the new layer was added. Either way, he scoffed and leaned to grab the second one, throwing it at his friend who accepted it with a grin on his face. It was almost scary how well they’ve managed to communicate without actually saying anything.

Louis finally found the thing he missed the most during his absence. These were those sessions he used to have with his friends; playing FIFA and drinking cheap beer until the latest hours of the night. Sure, _usually_ his companions weren't people of this magnitude, but even with Harry, it felt soothingly familiar, and that feeling only made him miss his mates more. Luckily, he had only a few hours till he sees them, thankful that they were versed enough in Harry's tour schedule to catch him when he's in the city because Louis most likely wouldn't initiate a hangout.

The dawn had crept upon them with its pale sunlight that pushed the darkness off the sky, presenting the oh so familiar grey. They haven't realised how long they had been playing, even if they probably should have. Louis managed to finish two full loads of laundry, they've played God knows how many games and the shameful herd of emptied beer bottles was a dead giveaway that they've been there a whole while.

It was only when Harry looked out of the window that any of them decided to voice something that wasn't game-related. Styles turned out to be a way better player than Louis would ever predict him to be, resulting in quite an array of playful insults the writer threw at him. Of course, he tried to keep them as light-hearted as he could, and he was successful for the most part. If it was one of his usual friends who kicked his ass in a game, he wouldn't have been nearly as cordial.

“I should go.” The brunette mumbled when their game had ended. Thankfully, it was Louis who won that one. In that case, he could just let the boy go since he _hated_ to finish on a loss. Styles didn’t seem to be as particular on that issue.

Louis' nose scrunched in thought as he got up from the couch, the soreness of his bones was the final straw he needed to decide that this couch's glory years were long gone if they ever were there, to begin with. He'd have to think about replacing the furniture, and he couldn't really lie and say he wasn't looking forward to that. He gathered as many bottles as he managed to grab and transported them to the kitchen counter, to be dealt with later.

When he came back to the coffee table to get the rest, he found Harry tapping decidedly on the screen of his phone. "Or… you could just crash here?" He proposed after thinking the issue through. It's not like they haven't been sleeping a few steps from each other most of the time. Hell, it happened more than once that they fell inches from each other, sharing the bed. “It’s late… or early?” He chuckled. “The couch is yours if you want it, it doesn’t unfold anymore but… or the bed, the bed is big enough for both of us.” He shrugged, working through his thoughts with just a bit of lag, caused by the unmeasurable amounts of alcohol he had consumed that evening and exhaustion. Still, his ability to think somewhat straight and form a cohesive sentence convinced him that he could trust himself around Harry. And then, he was really fucking sleepy, not in a mood to be fooling around and trying to get in anybody’s pants.

Harry hasn’t said anything at all, stuck in one of those quiet periods he sometimes got into when he drank too much but when Louis returned from the bathroom, where he went through his very compact routine that consisted of emptying his bladder and washing his hands, he found the boy undressed to his boxers, curled up on the couch that forced him to fold his body almost in half.

Louis was fully aware of how uncomfortable the sofa was to sleep on. Shit, he had a hard time fitting himself on it when his mother came down to visit, and Harry had a few extra inches on him. The brunette hasn't complained though, he never was the type to. "Don't be ridiculous, go to bed." He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sure enough, the boy complied. He thanked himself that he changed the sheets before leaving and hoped that those hangout sessions his friends apparently were having in his place when he was gone haven't included his bedroom.

The last conscious brain cell dictated him to get a bottle of water to set on his nightstand because after pouring pretty much an entire bar into himself, he was bound to wake up to a hangover.

"This is way nicer than the couch." Harry murmured with his face nuzzled in the dark, washed-out sheets he already fitted himself under. Louis was grateful that the boy seemed to figure out that the left side was his and considerably enough, took the other one for himself. Whether it was his preference or just being polite, he was thankful. "Although, _this…_ sure is _something._ ” Styles’ gaze fell onto the wall to the host’s right as he chuckled as lightly as his vocal cords allowed him.

The confusion was the best word to describe what Louis had felt at the moment. He did not remember having in his house, something that was worthy of the reaction Harry was having. Quickly, he twitched his head to the side, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the decoration someone (he sure as fuck knew who), prepared as a surprise for him. Now, Styles' reaction seemed not extreme enough. Tomlinson couldn't really think how he would act if he found out that his friend had a full-on shrine dedicated to him but he sure as hell wouldn't be laughing like Harry was.

Just above the beaten-up dresser, there were various posters taped to the wall with paper hearts and fairy lights woven in between. It was too much effort for a prank and that only gave him an answer that Marco was the one who was due a kick in the ass upon their meeting.

"I… it's not mine." He cringed at his own words, knowing how preposterous this claim was. Hopefully, Harry was going to believe that he wasn't some obsessive fan even though the whole setting was really convincing, from the posters to the halfway melted candles set on the dresser. "Oh god, I swear I haven't done that." He was still hesitant whether he should even look at Harry, but somehow, he brought himself to do that and thank fuck that he did because Styles' amused face brought his blood pressure significantly down before it had the chance of exploding his blood vessels.

"You sure have some creative friends, don't you?" Brunette shook his head and reached his hand towards his friend, who was confused as to what he wanted from him. "Can I have some?" He nodded at the bottle of water hung by Louis' side and of course, he was given what he asked for.

Eased by this light reaction to the creepy occurrence, the writer approached his bed and sat on the edge before he fully dove under the bedding. “How do you know it’s not mine?” Surprisingly, he found himself teasing the brunette who finished gulping the water and returned the bottle to Louis, who felt like the best thing he could’ve done was to settle it between their pillows since their chances of getting hungover were pretty much the same.

“Oh, please!” Harry scoffed dramatically and pushed his face into the pillow as he laid on his belly.

“What’s so funny? This is so mine!” The older man argued. “What am I not good enough to be one of the harries?” The teasing continued, Louis laying on his left side, facing his friend.

"You don't even recognise my songs on the radio." The brunette justified his doubt from behind his half-lidded eyes. "And I've done one of those shoots when you were in LA already."

“Touché.” Tomlinson gave up the battle and took one last look at his shrine before he shut the nightlamp, covering their faces with the darkness that was there only due to Harry’s clear-mindedness, which made him close the blinds. “Wish I could’ve seen your face when you found it.” He snickered into the pillow, his cheeks flushing at the pitch of his voice that made him sound like a literal fifteen-year-old obsessed fan. He hasn’t gotten a response and the sound puffs of air that were seeping through Harry’s nostrils calmed his embarrassment down even though it was really quite rude to fall asleep mid-conversation.


	11. Chapter 11

It was still dark when Louis finally brought himself to open his eyes after god knows how many hours of sleep. He felt like it could have been either fifteen minutes or fifteen hours. His head was pounding with a headache severe enough that sent the writer to pray for the sweet release of death. 

He felt fingertips digging deep into his side and the feeling of being pulled grounded his wandering mind. It was not often that he woke up in such a state. Of course, he knew well enough who he had to thank for the hangover that tormented the shit out of him and it sure as hell wasn't Harry Styles.

There was a thing he felt like he should thank the boy for, though. Surprisingly enough, the arm he wrapped around Louis' middle brought him tremendous comfort even though it probably shouldn't. See, he knew it was wrong to let the boy continue, but how could he push himself away when Harry's nose was so cosily nuzzled against the nape of his neck? What could he do about those fingers, clinging to his skin for dear life, keeping him in place so he couldn't escape?

In Louis' life, there wasn't really too much place for any kind of romantic endeavours, and even though Harry surely wasn't one of them either, the man let himself imagine that he was and decided to enjoy the moment for a bit more before the boy wakes up, realizes what he's done and turns the brightest shade of red he could ever achieve.

The realization of his mistake came sooner than he expected it to come. For the longest time, he wasn't aware of the part of him that wanted something like that. Well… not like that, he wasn't really craving unintentional cuddles after getting plastered with his work colleague, but it was a good replacement for what he actually wanted. He was getting older, and as he started approaching thirty, he started thinking that maybe he had wasted the best years of his life on meaningless one-night stands and casual fuck-buddies. 

His friends were already mated for the most part, and he was always the one who thought he's gonna be the forever bachelor of the group; he was pretty sure that was what he wanted ever since he entered dating scene at the age of thirteen. Only now it got to him that maybe his previous approach was stupid and with his mother's future being so uncertain… he really didn't want to be alone for the rest of his life. 

But then, Louis, over the course of his life, never really found himself falling in love with somebody. It hasn't happened for him yet and whether it was his subconsciousness deciding that he's not a relationship kind of person or just the fact that he hasn't met 'the right person', he was pretty sure he never truly loved anybody.

And now, he had work, and the work wasn't going to be over anytime soon. First, he had the tour that had barely started. It was going to be December when they're done, and then, there's still the time he'll need for actually putting the book together. So, yeah… Louis was quite certain that he's going to be alone forever and when that thought wouldn't be nearly as bad a year ago, it was just a skosh terrifying where he was now.

Whatever. This was not a good moment for these depressing thoughts about his doomed future, _fuck…_ he was miserable enough as it was, okay?

With Harry's soft puffs on his neck and chiselled stomach pressed tightly against Lou's back, it didn't take him too long to fall back to sleep, even though he felt dangerously close to oversleeping to his meeting with friends. Well… he knew that it couldn't have been close to seven in the evening but the complete darkness caused by the blinds being closed fucked with his brain a bit.

"Oh my god, fuck… why are you not asleep?" Louis groaned while slipping into consciousness after the nap he took before he even had a chance to properly wake up. He was not happy after being woken up by Harry, who gulped water like he hasn't had anything to drink in years. Well, it was kind of his fault. If he hadn’t brought the water to the bed, Styles wouldn’t have anything to drink, therefore, he wouldn’t wake him up. 

They were still closer than it would be appropriate but not as close as they were the last time Louis woke up. To be completely honest, he was maybe a bit disappointed; he was hoping to see Harry’s horrified expression when he found himself snuggling Louis. Oh well…

“We’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” The boy explained himself, looking down at Louis from where he was sitting and further emptying the bottle. “How do you feel about breakfast?” 

"There's nothing in the fridge, and I am sure as fuck not going out until seven." The pained moans continued as the man pushed his face against his pillow, cringing physically at the smell of his own breath. "But you can help yourself to some Pringles and a beer… if we haven't finished every bottle ." He hoped Harry would understand what he was babbling because lifting his head off the pillow seemed like something he couldn't achieve at this point in his life. 

"We have." Harry exhaled harshly and slid out of bed, the mattress springs relaxing when he got up. Louis obviously couldn't see, but by the slapping of big feet on the laminate floor, he could hear the boy leaving the bedroom. There was some ruffling in the kitchen, but he couldn't be bothered checking what Harry was doing, he needed at least an hour before he was ready to even think about getting up. "You should thank your lucky stars that…" Styles' voice grew louder alongside his steps. "I'm not only incredibly talented, sinfully sexy, otherworldly handsome, the funniest person alive but also… well, I am a hero, that's who I am." The boy scrunched something in between his fingers, and the sound sparked Louis' interest. 

As soon as his gaze fell on a plain paper bag in Harry’s left hand, a tube of Pringles tucked under his arm, the brunette threw the bag at Louis, who rolled to the side before he was hit in the head. 

“Make sure to write that down, you know… for the book.” Harry smirked and fell back onto the bed, the frame creaking ominously under his weight, the occurrence saying a lot about the furniture’s quality, considering the extreme reaction to Harry’s body that weighed maybe five pounds. “What’s at seven?” His eyebrow cocked up as he watched Louis struggle to open the bag.

"Oh my… that's my favourite place. Please tell me you got the almond croissants." The man shuffled the bag in his fingers just a bit before he found exactly what he was looking for. "Fuck, yes." The content moan made the younger boy chuckle. "When did you even…?" Louis looked at his friend in awe. He had no idea when Harry even managed to leave his flat to fetch them breakfast.

“Woke up at six, couldn’t sleep.” The singer shrugged, a smile wouldn’t leave his face as he watched Louis devour the pastry, dusting his bare chest in crumbs. “Then I came back and could sleep apparently.” 

There was a big pause in the conversation, two of them busy eating the products of Louis' favourite bakery. Well… it's not like he was such a pastry connoisseur, not at all. But he had a favourite place, conveniently enough this one was in the building opposite of his. Maybe he hadn't tried a lot of other places, but yeah, his one was the best. Miraculously enough, Harry seemed to have gotten all the staples, even the blueberry muffins they were almost always sold out of. He couldn't help but wonder if Harry used his charm and superstar status to get them because apparently, they were for VIP's only and Louis sure as hell wasn't on the list.

 _Okay_ , the availability of the muffins probably had more to do with coming to the shop so early and not the social status of the customer but Louis was going to stick to his theory, instead of acknowledging that him coming there around noon was probably the reason why he couldn’t ever get the treat. They were good, very good, still not waking up at six in the morning good.

“You _need_ to try these.” Louis moaned from above the muffin and tore the thing in half, seeing that there was only one of them. “They’re never in the shop when I go there, always sold out.” He shook his head and generously kept the smaller piece for himself. 

Harry eyed the muffin a bit before he pushed half of the decently-sized treat into his mouth. His eyebrows scrunched as he was chewing, his expression relaxing with every passing second. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten." He concluded the taste test after he swallowed the first half. His next bites barely small nibbles, savouring the rest of his muffin. 

Louis only moaned, content with his breakfast that most likely already maxed out Harry’s carb limit for the week. He didn’t seem to care too much though; as soon as they were finished with the pastries, he moved to the can of Pringles Louis remembered opening quite a chunk of time prior, just before he took off to LA.

“These are so stale.” The writer commented when he ate one of the crisps. His face grimaced aggressively at the sour taste on his tongue. 

It didn’t look like the brunette could’ve cared any less about his remark, only later did Louis find out why.

"Are you… licking them?!" The smaller one asked with amusement in his voice. He wasn't looking before, but right now, when he turned to face Harry, less embarrassed about his morning breath since it was covered by the smell of bread he ate, he could see a stack of wet Pringles, climbing to the ceiling, it's base on Styles' bare chest. "God, you're weird." He shook his head, lips still smirking just a bit but thankfully, Harry couldn't have seen that with his eyes closed as he almost mechanically rid the crisps of the seasoning with the tip of his broad tongue, his face scrunching at the sourness of the vinegary taste that he apparently enjoyed enough to do… that.

Louis couldn't be bothered dealing with Harry's bullshit. His head was still blearing with headache, and the best thing he could do for himself was acting dead. He laid his head back on the pillow, closed his eyes and pretended that the sounds Styles' tongue made against the crisps didn't bother him at all. They sure as fuck did, but he wasn't going to let that be known.

His peace didn't really last too long, not that he was really peaceful with Harry sucking on Pringles, but yeah, he wasn't left to his devices for long.

“What’s at seven?” The younger boy repeated the question he hadn’t got an answer to before. “You’ve said you’re not getting up until seven…”

"I know what I've said." Louis groaned, in response, quickly regretting the unintentional hostility in his voice. "My friends are coming over at seven, we'll hang out, play some games, work on my next hangover. You're free to join us, I'm sure they'd be ecstatic but to be completely honest, that's the worst idea." His head shot up at the sound of blinds being ruffled by a breeze that travelled through the flat, a brief flash of sunlight felt like needles being shoved into his brain.

"You don't want me to meet your friends?" Harry's sour expression was lit perfectly with the sunlight peeping through the blinds, and it had nothing to do with the crisps. He quickly realized his mistake and tried to make himself look less stupid. "I have a… thing in the evening but… why wouldn't that be a good idea?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Oh god, only you could assume that there's something wrong with you in this situation." Louis scoffed and pulled himself up on the bed until he was almost sitting. He turned his head to Harry and smirked at the thought of how the whole meeting would look like. "They're great lads but…" He took a break, scrambling the malfunctioning brain for right words. "First of all, I can't vouch for them behaving properly, especially with booze involved." A chuckle shook his body enough to increase his headache. “And considering that we haven’t seen each other in ages, I’d like to be in the centre of attention, thank you very much.”

The expression on the singer’s face merged into more neutral one, Louis was pretty sure that there was a shadow of a smirk that he could see, the same one that was always there when Harry tried not to smile. 

“Didn’t know you were such a diva.” Dark eyebrows wiggled at the older man who groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow. In desperation, he turned it to the other side, the cool feeling on his cheek brought him unmeasurable comfort. 

He felt eyes on the back on his head, it was no secret that Harry was staring at him from where he was sitting. There was no need to continue the conversation yet somehow, despite his misery, he kind of felt like talking. Maybe it was the fact that they were facing the longest period of separation ever since they've met. It wasn't long at all, twenty-four hours, maybe a bit more, depending on if Louis' hangover lets him see Harry's London show; but still, they've grown quite attached, and he didn't know if the singer felt the same way, but for him, it was quite weird not having the boy near. 

His aching body shuffled to the side, his eyes catching Harry's as he was, in fact, staring. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me yet." He bent his lips in a smug smirk, the teasing note in his voice clearly pulling attention.

“Like this?” The boy carried the teasing, his eyes falling on the posters on the wall and Louis cringed at the sight, having already forgotten about the decoration his friends worked so hard on.

“Shut up.” His lips pouted unintentionally. “I’ve only said that to seem interesting, I’m very boring, to be honest.” 

“I have a hard time believing that.” Harry snorted in amusement and laid back, his eyes plastered to the ceiling as the two of them took advantage of the time before it ran out.

Cold droplets of water raced towards the drain down Louis' body that was long overdue for a shower even if he had one before he left for the gala the day prior. It was bizarre, but somehow, he felt like the whole event was weeks behind, but that was most likely due to the fact that it was half-past six when Harry and he finally left the comfort of the bed and said quick goodbye before the host hopped into the shower, leaving the singer up to his own devices, knowing that he's not going to be there when he gets back.

He felt like he's going to get sweaty the second he steps out of the shower, his hunch pretty justified, considering that it had to be at least thirty degrees in his apartment, if not more than that. The decision of hanging out at his place instead of going out was quickly regretted, but then, it was a rarity to find a pub with AC that was not packed with people so, yeah… he'd rather have four of them sweating their assess off in the comfort of his pad than doing the same with crowds around them.

He decided that it was the time to cut his shower after pouring onto himself what it felt like a whole supply of cold water assigned to his part of the city. Even if that was the truth (it obviously wasn’t), he felt like he deserved the shower and even if he didn’t… oops?

The mirror still fogged up for some reason, and he had to lean down to see his face under the misty part. Other than the bags under his eyes, he looked decent, at least up to the standard his friends were used to. With utmost precision, he brushed his teeth for twice as long as he normally would, making up for the last night when he neglected the step of his routine. It did not really work like that, at least that’s what his mother always taught him when he was a kid and later, he never cared enough to fact-check the claim. 

With few strokes of his fingers through his wet hair, his bathroom routine was concluded. He wrapped a towel around his waist, one of those old, frayed ones that he remembered from his childhood. Yeah, he most definitely should get rid of them but he had some weird, sentimental connection to the piece of stupid fabric. Of course, he had better ones, in case he had a guest over but for himself, he always opted for the ones he brought to London when he moved out from his mother’s. 

His eyes fell to his toes, feet relishing in the feeling of a tile that was a few degrees colder than the air in the apartment. He quickly realized that he was overdue for a pedicure or at least, his version of it and cringed at the thought of everybody who had a dubious pleasure of seeing his feet in the last week or so. Embarrassed with the state of his toenails, he sat on the closed lid of the toiled, pushed a knee to his chest and half-assed clipping them, taking care of his fingernails while he was at it, sending the debris all over the bathroom, leaving it to be dealt with later (yeah, he was disgusting, don’t judge).

When every step of his quite extensive (for his standards) routine was finished (he even used toner and moisturizer he was gifted by one of his friends!), Louis pushed the door to his bathroom opened and left the steamy room. He felt his heart drop when he noticed a tall silhouette, stretched on his sofa.

His hand bolted towards his chest, clutching theatrically the place where his heartbeat was the strongest. His eyebrows pinched together in an annoyed expression as he was biting down on a smirk, trying to suppress his unconscious reaction to seeing Andrew, his best friend for the first time in a long while. “Do I have fucking ‘scare the shit out of me’ written on my forehead? Fuck, that’s not funny.” He drawled through his clenched teeth. Maybe it was quite unfair to snap at Andy since it was the first time he remembered being quite this startled by him. Let’s be real, it was Harry who decided that giving him heart palpitations was a funny meme but well, the most prominent offender was not there anymore so, it was Andy who took the blame.

The friend looked like he couldn't care less about the threatening tone in Lou's voice, well, he knew better than believing the act his mate was pulling. He had a smug smirk on his thin lips, fingers tangled together on his lap. "Nice to see you too, Louis." The man mocked, not moving his body even an inch. "You weren't answering the door, so I've let myself in." He eyed his friend from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, coming back to his face, squinting at the stubborn expression. "You have only yourself to blame, really. You know me long enough to know I'm always early."

Louis exhaled sharply, not entertaining his friend who decided to mock him for longer than it was necessary. Yeah, he probably should've known better than getting up so late, but he had no regrets, none at all. "Give me a second, I'm gonna throw something on." The slapping of his feet on the floor followed him to the bedroom, where he picked up a pair of boxers from the underwear drawer that was close to empty, considering that most of the clothes he owned were either still on the dryer, ready to be washed or piled on an armchair, waiting for Louis to get inspired to fold the clean laundry and pack it back into the suitcase he was scheduled to pick up very soon.

Clothed in a very domestic outfit, consisting of a ripped tank top and shorts he remembered buying six years prior, he returned to the living room only to enter it in the same time as the other two of his friends, strutting into the flat like it was their own.

“I have a buzzer here, you know that?” Louis threw at his friends, his expression way cheerier than the one he sported before. He was joking, of course; he was happy that his mates were comfortable enough to just pop into his place like it was theirs and he also knew, that he wouldn't hesitate to bust their doors open, unannounced if he wasn't the one hosting. "Beers, oh god, give them to me!" His airy laughter rang as he approached the two and got the beverages from their hands, carrying them to the freezer where he found another batch of the ones Andrew must've brought.

"Lou!" The shortest of his friends grinned at him, showcasing his staple, crooked smile. Without any warning, Lou was wrapped in a tight embrace, his chin nudging his friend's forehead. Marco was one or two inches shorter than Louis was, and if he was going to be honest, he took comfort in the fact that at least in his friend group, he wasn't the smallest one. "You look…" The man tried to find the words that wouldn't make him sound rough, but he was interrupted mid-sentence.

"Like shit." Drew finished from where he was sitting, getting up almost immediately to get to the kitchen and retrieve beers for each of them. "I think this is the reason." The man brought the group's attention to the herd of empty beer bottles, and only then Louis realized how much they drunk with Harry last night. With the number of vessels AND their heavy indulgence in the open bar, it was a miracle they were able to make it to the bed. 

“Thanks.” The host smirked at his best friend and exchanged a quick embrace with Johnny, the newest addition to their group that was supposed to be Andy’s one-night hook-up, but somehow, stuck around for a year already. “Guess all the fame and money hasn’t changed me at all, huh?” He joked, toeing his way to the armchair. Carelessly, he threw the heap of laundry on the floor next to it and took a seat, taking a big gulp from his bottle. 

“What money?” Johnny finally spoke, sitting with the other three on the sofa. 

Louis rolled his eyes, knowing that as of now, there wasn't really any money to speak of. He brought his gaze back to his friends and tried to notice all the small changes that happened in their appearance ever since he left. There was not a lot of these, the guys had their staple looks and rarely changed things up at this point in their lives, but Marco's hair disappeared, leaving him with a buzzcut which Tomlinson couldn't yet decide whether he liked or not, Johnny rid himself of his beard and Andy… he looked exactly the same, most likely even the amount of whatever he used to style his quiff up to the T. 

“Speaking of…” Drew crossed his long arms on his chest, his piercing grey gaze intense on the centre of attention and even from that, he started regretting not insisting that Harry stays for the meeting. The worst part was knowing that the singer would’ve probably stayed, Lou knew damn well that he had nothing to do that evening. “I had quite a celebrity sighting on my way up here.” The remaining two pairs of eyes shoot from Lou’s face to Andrew’s. 

Louis looked from above the t-shirt he busied himself with folding. It was a chore he didn’t particularly enjoy, not that there was one he liked, but it gave him something to hide behind and well, he still had to do it sooner or later. 

The hum of the washing machine was the only noise audible since their conversation stopped when Louis refused to explain himself. Well, it's not like he was embarrassed of Harry Styles, the international heartthrob superstar being in his flat, of course not. His reluctancy came strictly from the fact that his friends never were the ones to let the issue go without a full explanation, preferably with timestamps and all the details and he couldn't quite offer what they were craving. No, he was not allowed to give them what they wanted, although he doubted that the NDA would be enough to convince the men to give him a rest. 

"Say something, Jesus!" Johnny rushed the host who thanked the gods above for the knocking on the front door that broke out, unexpected. While Louis hadn't expected any more company, whoever he had coming his way, was going to be better than the interrogation he was facing in the living room, even if it was the devil himself coming to sweep him to the underworld. 

The second he pulled the door open ever so slightly, he was met with Harry’s sheepish face. “Hi, again… I- um…” The boy struggled to form a cohesive sentence, Louis waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts, well used to this already. “I forgot my phone.” The boy finally struggled out, his hands pushed into the pockets of his dress pants, the jacket nonchalantly tossed over his left shoulder. 

“Give me a second.” The writer threw his friend an apologetic look, his unsaid message read with astonishing ease, considering that Harry sometimes had a hard time doing that. “I’ll get it for you. Any idea where I should look for it?” He asked, tightening the grip on the neck of the bottle he decided to keep in his hand. 

"Under the pillow, I'm pretty sure it's there." The information was acknowledged with a simple nod, and as soon as his head stabilized again, Louis was on his way to the bedroom. Sure enough, he found the forgotten device under one of the flat pillows, dangerously close to the edge of the mattress. The odds seemed to be in their favour though, he could already feel the struggle of trying to lift the mattress hungover, in the thirty-degree swelter. 

Not wanting to keep Styles waiting any longer, exposed to the judgemental looks from three, extremely nosy gays; he jogged to the door and handed the phone back to its owner. He debated whether he should invite the boy in but then, he remembered the intense gazes of those three vultures sitting on his couch, and he decided that he shouldn't expose the boy to that, especially that he was far from his prime himself and would be a very appetizing piece for the friends to claw apart. 

“Exactly where you’ve said it was.” Louis pressed his lips together in a smirk. 

“Thanks.” The phone ended up in one of the pockets on the side of Harry’s pants. “See you… tomorrow?” Dark eyebrow cocked up, Harry visibly curious about the answer. “You can bring your pals if they’re up for it, I’ve told you that, haven’t I?” He dragged the conversation for a bit longer than necessary and _fuck,_ Louis wished he hadn’t. It was obvious that from the complete silence in the living room, every single one of his friends was able to hear what they were talking about and if anything, he didn’t want his mates to know that he could, in fact, bring people to Harry’s shows if he wished to. 

He wasn't a horrible friend, or at least that was what he wanted to think about himself. There was a plan to bring them to one of the shows, just not this one. Harry had one in London by the end of his tour, and somehow, this date seemed more suitable in Lou's mind, most likely because it was further away. A great friend would've probably brought the guys to both, but then, he was perfectly fine being a mediocre one. 

“I know, of course.” He nodded again. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” The question was very random since even the writer himself couldn’t really think of any matter pressing enough for Harry to reach for him in the short period they were not going to see each other. 

“Of course.” Styles smiled. “Okay I’m not going to take more of your time, I’ve already overstayed my welcome. See you soon.” The boy turned on his heel and started taking steps away before Louis could reply; his “Soon.”, was perhaps a touch too loud but only then he could be sure that he was heard.

With the encounter being over, he closed the door and got back to his friends, ready for even more questions than he faced before Harry showed up at his door.

There was a whole spectrum of expressions on his friend’s faces. From smug and cocky Andy, to completely shocked Marco, who looked like he wasn’t going to talk for at least a week. 

“What?” Louis asked with the most casual tone he could produce, completely unbothered as he returned to folding his laundry, waiting for his friends to snap out of whatever the fuck they were in at the moment. “Jesus Christ.” He whispered under his breath, rolling a pair of underwear according to Harry’s instructions. 

“When were you going to tell us that we’re going to a Harry Styles show tomorrow?” Johnny took upon himself speaking first. It’s not like Andy was scared to or starstruck like Marco seemed to be. He just had to prove a point that was still a mystery to anybody but him. Working where he worked at, he had more than enough time to desensitize to celebrity presence, he was just a smug bastard like that and Louis would’ve lied if he said that it wasn’t one of his favourite things about the man.

There was a beat of silence, long enough that the host had time to fold two t-shirts despite struggling quite a bit. "Hmm… right around never I guess." His shoulders moved in a shrug, his lips curving around nothing when he felt the urge to explain himself, seeing Marco's hurt expression. "I was going to take you to the second one in December." He rolled his eyes when he realized that his explanation did absolutely nothing. 

“Take us to both.” Andy finally spoke, his derisive tone bringing both comfort and irritation to the equation. “Your pals are very much up for it.” His lips bent in a mocking smirk that sent enraged shivers down Lou’s spine. “When exactly were you going to spill that you’re sleeping with Harry Styles, though?” Andrew’s thick, unkempt eyebrow shot up, clearly showing his interest in the issue he made up. “Quite a scandal really, isn’t he like on his tenth girlfriend this year?” 

That question struck a nerve that Louis wasn't aware, was _that_ sensitive. In his conversations with Harry, they came to a silent agreement and never acknowledged the existence of the girlfriends, past or present. It was the day after the boy confessed to his relationships being staged for the most part, when the writer stopped asking about his love interests even though he really wanted to, both his professional and private curiosity pushed him to do that. But then, ever since the topic was blacklisted, the moments where Styles would just drift away upon being asked and coming back with a ruined mood started being more and more sparse, pretty much non-existent at this point; so, taking all of the factors under consideration, it was worth it. For the time being, he was fine with whatever they were talking about on the daily, leaving the inevitable relationship talk for later, preparing questions in advance in order to ease ripping off that particular band-aid for his subject.

“And what exactly gave you this stupid idea?” There was absolutely no humour in his words, despite his friends being quite amused with Andy’s claim. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the laundry, speeding up his tempo in order to hide the discomfort he felt under those three, careful gazes. 

Andrew’s back straightened, his whole silhouette leaned towards Tomlinson who was left stranded on the armchair, his friends everything but helpful. “So…” The man started, twisting a finger around a strand of blonde hair that escaped from his meticulously styled quiff and tucking it behind his ear. “You’re telling me that we haven’t just seen Harry Styles, in yesterday’s clothes, telling you that he’s left his phone under your pillow?” The smug expression on the man’s face made Louis feel uneasy. “It must’ve been some kind of collective hallucination then, I’m pretty sure what I saw.”

To be fair, his friend was not right, not at all and yet, Louis still felt like he was guilty of what he was being accused of. He hasn't slept with Harry, obviously. Even if on various occasions, he got a little too carried away in his adoration of the boy's impeccable physique, they never went further than those two, innocent kisses he was not going to tell his friends about. Hopefully, his pals were going to blame the blush blooming on his cheeks on the swelter that felt like it was melting the skin right off his body.

"I haven't slept with Harry." Louis finally groaned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, I did, but in the same sense, I did with any of you. We've shared beds multiple times, and yet, I could gag at the thought of fucking either one of you." A smirk found its way on his lips upon seeing his mates' reactions to his words. "No offence." He attempted to make things better, but it was clear to see that ALL offence was taken or at least they were pretending to be insulted, Louis was pretty sure that they were feeling the same way as he was. "Hanging out with him is my job, we talk till it's late, and sometimes we doze off, it happens. And now, can we please just not talk about my work?"

"I still don't believe you." Andy persisted as he pulled up his legs, crossing them on the seat. "You make it seem like fucking him would be the worst thing, he's fit, you can't deny him that."

A loud huff was pushed out of the host’s mouth, he was very much done with it. If he had known that the meeting was going to focus on Harry, he would’ve never agreed to it. “As you’ve already noticed, he has a girlfriend. And while I’m very flattered that you even think I could get it… I really couldn’t so, can we finally lay it off?”

A deep groove deformed Johnny's face as he hopped from Lou's face to Andy's, waiting for further questioning, but there was a long pause, and neither seemed like they were going to talk anytime soon which wasn't really that bad, considering that the silence meant the end of his misery. 

All he wanted was to hang with his mates, and somehow, he ended up being interviewed about a guy none of his pals ever showed particular interest in before he got the job. Honestly, he should've seen this coming, his friends were the nosiest bastards he knew and never failed to question each member of their group whenever something even remotely interesting was happening in their lives. 

Louis didn't really mind being on the asking end of the equation, it was quite entertaining, and that's why he hasn't blown up at his mates just yet. He decided to push through the interrogation, folding the laundry as the whole thing went on, so his time wasn't completely wasted.

"How was the gala?" Marco took upon himself breaking the uncomfortable silence between the guys, and on the first glance, it worked. All three pairs of eyes shot to Louis and glued to his face. 

He didn't really know what exactly he should tell his friends. It was a lame-ass party, and it was worth it only because of the open bar. He enjoyed the food too, but on itself, the experimental menu with portions too small to even enjoy them properly wasn't worth it. "Boring." His short answer was concluded with a shrug to further highlight his indifference to the posh evening he was taken to. 

“Come on, you can’t just answer that after dropping two hundred thousand on one party, give us more!” Andy pressured, standing up on his long legs, crossing his way to the fridge in just a couple of long strides. “Anybody else?” The man wiggled his empty bottle in the air before chucking it on the counter to join the shameful reminder of last night. 

When nobody answered him, Drew got himself a beer and came back, pushing Louis’ buttons with his gaze.

There wasn't really a reason why he thought it was his job to correct his friend's mistake, but for some reason, he felt obliged to do that. "Five." The mumble was met with confusion on Andy's face. "It was five hundred." He corrected with a sigh, thinking about where exactly the number came from. The irrelevant mistake only made him wonder how much of the things people are used to hearing about celebrities were a bunch of bullshit, how many things he wrote about his previous subjects were false.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I've been struggling with lack of motivation to proof read the chapter, getting a bit self-conscious about the quality of my writing and that kind of stuff.  
>  Either way, it's finally here, so thank you for being here and all the encouragement :)

Louis was typing away, his fingertips slapping the keys with both impressive speed and volume. Somehow, he felt like he was more productive when his typing could be heard by everybody in ten-kilometre radius, although this habit would’ve probably vanished as soon as he was forced to take the headphones off and listen to the noise he was responsible for.

His head was swaying a bit to the melody of a song he was listening to as he continued to work on his book… at least one of the versions he was preparing. It was quite uncanny that in these circumstances, he was in a mood to do anything other than lay down and pray for death. It was somewhere in between midnight and one in the morning, the hangover that piled up from two days of drinking was still lingering in the back of his head. He was quite bummed about leaving his home, not to mention that he was pretty much forced into attending Harry’s show. And if that on its own wasn’t bad enough for his hungover ass, adding three babbling gays that didn’t know a concept of hangover and a surprise attendance of a model that he wasn’t entirely sure he knew a name of, pushed the scale to the side of absolute misery.

Thankfully, he was back on the territory he was familiar with. He was alone in the questionable comfort of his claustrophobic coffin, a computer in his lap as he worked on the most official version of the book, the bland one. See, somewhere along the way, Tomlinson not even aware when exactly, he started spinning off from his original project and exploring different routes. It wasn’t probably the best idea, considering that he had a deadline for the book he was struggling to write; starting two different ones was the least he needed at the moment.

But what could he do when the content was begging to be used, the absolute abundance of things he could utilize, making his head pump new and new ideas. The worst thing that became apparent during the process was the fact that he found himself way more excited about one of the unofficial projects than the main one. At first, he was kind of restricting the time he spent with that particular document opened, but then, he was never good when it came to keeping himself in check.

The ease in which creating the side-project came to him was most likely caused by the fact that it was more _his_ style of writing than the thing he was contracted to write for Jeff. The long hours he spent with Harry, having their heart to heart, late-night conversations gave him more material than he could ever use and honestly, it would've been such a waste if he let it be forgotten, right?

Of course, there was no way he would ever publish it and even though he knew that, he was still working on it for the sake of writing, keeping his brain nimble when he didn't necessarily feel like doing the actual work. He was absolutely certain that if he had released it, he would've sold more copies than of all of his previous books added up, the Bible even! The document filled with juicy details, Harry let slip 'off the record', and while Louis felt a bit guilty even noting these in the depths of his computer, he really couldn't help himself.

His whole body spasmed violently when the curtain he decided to draw for the first time in a while was opened, revealing a grinning mug of a man who apparently felt like scaring the living shit out of the writer, whether it was intentional or not. The headphones fell off Lou’s head when he bumped it on the roof of his bunk, a melody very much familiar to both of them faintly filled their ears before the older man had a chance to shut it down, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“I will murder you in your sleep.” Louis drawled through his teeth, slapping the top of his computer down before his companion had a chance to peep at what he was working on. “If you don’t give me a heart attack first.” A huff of air was pushed out of Lou’s gut, his heart still racing after being scared.

“You really are a psycho fan, aren’t you?” The boy commented on the fact that the writer was clearly listening to his song.

There was a stubborn thought that made Tomlinson want to deny all the allegations, even though it would be useless, considering that he was literally caught red-handed. "They've shuffled me it on some pre-made playlist." He opted for the next best explanation and lied as if he hadn't been listening to Harry's whole discography on numerous occasions when he was working. "It's not my fault you're fucking everywhere." A grimace deformed his tanned face, further deepening at the sight of the grin on Styles' face.

“Sure it was exactly that.” The artist winked, mocking his friend even though he had no way of knowing whether Lou’s claim was true or not. “You want anything from the store?” Only when the question was asked, the writer realized that they were no longer moving, their bus coming to a halt; the occurrence apparently not important enough for the busy bee which Louis was at the moment.

His eyebrows furrowed as he dug his brain for the answer, Harry waiting patiently. “No, I think I have everything.” He shook his head and hopped off the bunk, his feet stomping heavily on the floor of the bus that shook just a bit under his weight. “Thanks for asking though.” His lips pressed in an expression resembling a smile and two of them separated, Styles strutting his way out of the bus.

Louis decided to do the same. A little breather was everything he needed, and even though they've barely got back on the road again, he still decided to take the opportunity and use it.

The air was heavy and moist around him as he sat on the curb, digging through his Instagram feed. White puffs of smoke seeped through his lips with every drag he took of his cigarette. Absentmindedly, he double-tapped on his best mate's posts, perfectly showcasing the top tier placement they've had at Harry's show, rolling his eyes at the juvenile flexing of his lads.

Before he could finish his cigarette and discard of it properly, he was surprised by scraping of shoes on the asphalt. “Didn’t know you smoked.” Harry’s face deformed and Louis would scoff at the sheer disgust he could see in those eyes if his lungs weren’t filled with smoke, slowly devouring the organs that barely had a chance to recover during the brief break he had from the habit.

He tried to look guilty as he gazed up at Harry, the boy’s fingers clasped tightly around the snacks that even Louis, being a snack aficionado he was, couldn’t recognize in the darkness. He relished in the last drag of the cigarette before he smashed it on the asphalt, saying goodbye to the smoke he pushed out of his lungs.

“Only when my life is falling apart.” The attempt at making a humorous remark in regards to his deadly habit failed miserably, Harry’s face not even twitching at the joke but then, Louis should’ve known better. The boy was never a fan of those self-deprecating jokes that he, on the other hand, loved.

It was an overstatement to even say that he was _smoking_. Yeah, he had a few cigarettes with his lads during their hangout, so what? And when going to the store and picking up a pack for himself could be considered going back to the habit, it was barely twenty-four hours that he was smoking again. He decided to give it up as soon as he’s done with the pack and as of now, he was pretty confident that he’s going to be able to do that.

“Please, don’t tell my mom.” This attempt was way more successful than the previous one, the corners of Harry’s lips twitching at the pleading note in his friend’s voice as he joked. “She’ll kick my ass if she knows.”

"Good. Now I'm definitely telling on you." The boy seemed to be too enthusiastic about the idea. His lean fingers fumbled with the packaging of the microwave popcorn he bought at the gas station, and Louis could already smell the scent he was going to spend the night surrounded by. Before he had a chance to protest against his roommate's inconsiderate behaviour, the doors of the appliance were shut, and the bag started spinning. "You're busy?" His raspy voice emerged from around the loud popping in the microwave.

Louis didn't really know why he was even still standing there. Considering how good was his work going before he was rudely interrupted, he should hop back into his bunk and continue, but somehow, this momentary pause in writing made all of the inspiration vanish and right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He had a hunch that he wasn't going to bed anytime soon, though. Harry's question clearly indicated that the boy had some plans for the two of them. Even though he could say that he is, in fact, busy, he wasn't really sure that he should excuse himself and go to sleep. "No, not really." He found himself answering without much thought. "Why?" His question was prompted by the furrow of Harry's eyebrows.

“I’m watching a movie, you’re in?”

The proposition wasn’t tempting at all. It would be pointless to get into a movie when he felt like he’d doze off after fifteen minutes either way. “What are you watching?”

“Dunno.” His shoulders slumped forward, a sheepish expression showing that he might have an idea but was embarrassed to admit to his choice. “You can pick something.”

The microwave beeped, announcing the end of Harry’s great culinary adventure and the time for Lou’s decision making was running out. “Sure.” He mumbled and leaned down to the fridge. It took him a bit to shuffle through the abundance of snacks they were keeping in there from various gifts the singer receive, but he finally settled on a selection on both sweet and salty to balance things out for his palate.

“You don’t know, huh?” Louis mocked his friend after they both hopped on the bed that was unfairly comfortable in comparison with Tomlinson’s sleeping situation. The title screen of _Casablanca_ already on the TV.

“Shut up.” The younger boy snapped back at his companion, tossing the remote to the other one, leaving the movie choice for Louis since his decision didn’t seem to satisfy him. “We can watch _Avengers_ or something, I don’t care.” A smell of fresh, buttered popcorn filled the small cubicle of Harry’s bedroom that pretty much consisted only of the bed and the TV on the wall. For Louis’ standards, that was everything he’d ever need in a bedroom.

The older one ripped into the packet of Hobnobs and tossed half of crumbled first cookie into his mouth. "This is who you think I am?" Miraculously, the scoff he pushed out hasn't blasted the crumbs all over the mattress. "Some kind of Avengers watching, fragile baby who's scared that watching a rom-com will take away from my manhood?"

Harry barked out a laugh, Louis’ offended tone way too amusing in his ears. “You’re looking very masculine right now if I say so myself.” He commented, putting another fistful of popcorn into his mouth. The careful gaze stayed on Tomlinson, still without any intention of starting the video, uncertain if they were going to stick to his movie choice.

Well, he wasn't wrong. The writer's current situation didn't really scream manly, his face stuffed with cookies, petite silhouette buried in the abundance of pillows, piled on the side of the bed after being deemed unnecessary. Styles' comment earned him a fierce side-eye and a cookie thrown at his face, and after a bit of contemplating, the boy ate it, apparently deciding that those few extra calories weren't going to kill him.

“You’re so stupid, I hate you.” Tomlinson sighed and pushed the button on the remote, starting the movie Harry chose for himself to watch.

Admitting that probably wouldn’t be the best for the image he created for himself but honestly, he’d much rather watch the movie Styles picked than _Avengers_ for that matter. Superheroes stopped being fun and exciting for him around the age of twelve. Ah, he still watched some, sometimes even in the cinema but these outings were prompted more by his friend's interest, and he focused on fit actors throughout the séance either way.

The brunette lied down on the bed, his back curved in such a way that the top of his head ended up being pressed to his friend’s thigh. Louis was more concentrated on his snacks than on the movie. Despite Harry apparently knowing the production by heart, their levels of interest were all over the place with the younger boy devouring every word fallen off actor’s lips and the writer being constantly distracted by literally everything.

Contrary to his predictions, he hasn’t managed to fall asleep, even though the movie was nearing its conclusion. Instead, it was Harry who dozed off, his soft breath brushing his friend’s knees from where the boy managed to wiggle his head up onto Lou’s lap.

It might have been the fact that he was quite uncomfortable where he was sitting, his tailbone already sore from the position or the fact that somewhere along the way, he started absentmindedly fingering the curls on top of Harry’s head, that kept him awake because it sure as hell wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t tired.

He was exhausted, he really was. Logically enough, even more, than he remembered being upon being invited to the movie séance. His eyelids were falling closed only to snap open in a matter of seconds and looking down on Harry with his fingers clasped over the edge of Lou's shorts. His fingers never stopped grazing the singer's scalp, even when he felt Harry stirring away from his nap.

A raspy groan emerged from deep inside of Harry's gut, and despite being filled with those razors that seemed to be scraping the boy's throat with every movement of his vocal cords, it was surprisingly _soft._ “Good movie, yeah?” Louis teased the sleepy boy who squirmed on his lap, pressing his face to his clothed thighs, the fingers still wandering around the softest locks the older man ever had a chance of touching, most likely the courtesy of extensive care routine that Louis simply did not have, at all.

The only answer he was given was another low grunt, Harry's body shivered a bit from the pleasure the scalp massage gave him. He didn't want it to stop, and it's not like Louis was going to break the contact between his fingertips and the singer's hair. "Sorry." Styles apologized, twisting his face back to the screen where the movie was already ending. "Was I snoring?" A question emerged from between actors' voices. His index finger was tracing shapes on the side of Lou's knee, with the same mindlessness as the other man was fondling his silky hair.

"I bet they could hear you in Yorkshire." Louis teased his friend, eyes jumping to the screen to see the credits roll. "At least my mom will know I'm on my way." His shoulders shrugged, wondering if his mocking was even half as amusing to Harry as it was to him. "You haven't, no."

The singer twisted his body, looking at his friend. Now, he was full-on laying sideways on the mattress. “You’re staying with your mum?” He asked from behind his half-lidded eyes.

Louis was pretty sure they've talked about that particular issue already, and he would probably get mad, having to repeat himself numerous times, if it wasn't Harry. The multitude of information the boy was avalanched with on a daily basis made his forgetfulness at least somewhat excusable. It was also late, he was exhausted after performing a show and well… everybody has their moments like that, right?

“I am, yeah.” His lips bent unintentionally at the thought of seeing his mother, showing off pretty explicitly how much of a mama’s boy he actually was. He’d rather die than admit that while in his teens but now, there was no shame in his demeanour when he flaunted that trait left and right. "We're staying at the hotel after the show, and then we're heading to Donny."

“You’re bringing her?” It sounded like the boy had a hard time believing the words he heard just about now, seeming far too excited about the possibility of meeting a stranger.

“She’d murder me if I didn’t.” Another smirk bent Lou’s lips, knowing that it would probably be the case. “How could I not bring your biggest fangirl in Yorkshire to the show?”

He wasn't necessarily lying. Okay, maybe he was colourizing the narrative just a bit for the sake of inflating Styles' ego. His mother was very similar in the matter to how his friends were. Her interest in Harry's career _spiked,_ the moment she learned about the deal and suddenly, Louis was finding Styles' CD's around his mum's flat. At least, unlike the lads, her interest didn't seem nearly as fake, and Louis caught his mother listening to those records from time to time.

"These Tomlinsons…" Harry started, a mocking smirk on his lips. "Can't seem to get enough of me." His hand subconsciously travelled towards his fringe; his attempt at brushing it ended up in an awkward bump of their fingers, and _thankfully,_ Harry withdrew his before Louis got the chance to stop caressing his scalp. “Are there more of you I have to woo?”

“Only Shelly.”

“And who would that be?” The name seemed to have sparked a genuine curiosity in the singer.

"Me mum's dog." A burst of unexpected, breathy laughter broke out in the sleeping cubicle. Harry's body shook irregularly as he chuckled for no apparent reason.

A visible confusion entered Louis’ face, his eyes squinted, carefully inspecting his friend’s contorting face with a whole bunch of questions popping up one after another. With no answer in sight, he leaned his head to the right and closed his eyes, letting Harry have at his unexplainable fit.

It took a while, for it to stop; minutes upon minutes of nothing but giggles and the whole occurrence wouldn't be nearly as surprising if Louis wasn't well aware that the boy hadn't drunk that evening. After he finally calmed himself down, the silence crept upon them, hanging heavy in the stuffy, popcorn-scented air.

Louis couldn’t bring himself to lift his head up and look at Harry even though he just _knew_ , he was being stared at. Whether it was the heated air or the prickling gaze on his skin, something made him feel quite uneasy, significantly tenser than he was used to feeling in Styles' company. Most of the time, their hangouts came very effortlessly to them, at least after they were done with that awkward stage at the beginning of their relationship when they were just _kind of_ spending time together but never really talked. This time, something was different, but no matter how hard he searched his brain for an answer _why,_ he came up blank.

He decided to give in to that bizarre aura embracing their bodies, taking a strangely sizable toll on Louis’ brain that just kept wondering what it was exactly that he felt and if Harry sensed it too.

The silence was only interrupted by some of the outside noises that managed to make it through the soundproofing and their shuffling breaths, heavy from the heat with a quiet sigh here and there. Harry found himself fumbling with the string of his friend’s shorts and while the position they were in didn’t help either with keeping their body temperature in check, neither cared enough to move, so they’ve stayed like that for quite a chunk of time.

"Can I ask you a question?" Styles budged and broke off the long streak of silence between them. His words partially disappeared somewhere along the way, making them barely audible from where Louis' head was resting in the air, the tilt putting quite a strain on his neck.

He huffed out a breath, his eyebrows furrowed just a little after he's been pulled out of the thoughts he wasn't really aware he dove into. "For the book or private?" His wit kicked in faster than he would ever predict it to. He was quite proud of himself with how easy mocking Harry came to him, even if it was only a stupid question the boy never failed to ask whenever Louis inquired him about anything at all.

There was not much sense in even asking the question since there was no obligation the writer had to tell Harry and even if, their little unsaid deal was nothing against the part of his contract with Jeff, which explicitly said that there was not really a concept of a things being 'off the record'. He was free to take whatever he gathered as long as he was going to make good use out of it, of course, Azoff having a full veto on anything Louis wanted to publish. But Harry didn't know that. Harry didn't know a lot of things actually, a whole bunch of shit he probably should have known from the get-go. And as much as Louis wanted to tell him, ever since their relationship started being something more than professional companionship, he felt like it wasn't his place to come between Harry and his manager, it was not his mess to get involved in, and Jeff claimed that he's going to 'take care of Harry', whatever it actually meant.

Tomlinson was sure that Azoff's claim that Harry's ignorance was blissful to the friendship he was paid to build with the singer was very much true. He remembered well enough how hard it was to get the boy to trust him enough to let his guard down, even just a bit. He had no intention of ever getting back on that route, in great detail recalling the struggle he had to endure to get any content out of him then. It was sure that there was no way they would've ever gotten quite this close if the brunette was aware of the full agreement Louis had reached with Jeff.

The whole ‘taking care of Harry’ thing, was never Louis’ concern and oh, _fuck_ , he was happy to have that in the back of his head. Hopefully, he was never to see Styles’ reaction to whatever the hell him and Jeff were going to put out. Harry’s outlook on press and that whole, inherent component of his fame was clear from the day they’ve met. Hell, Louis still remembered every word of the extensive speech about boundaries and ‘I’m not a part of this’ monologue he witnessed on the first day he arrived into the singer’s mansion. While it was very funny to him, at first, just another washed-up celebrity ranting about the struggles of being rich, talented and successful, it stopped being amusing quite a while ago.

He didn't even know Harry long. Even if it seemed like their relationship was developing way longer than it actually was, they still barely knew each other, and that wasn't probably going to change at all. Yeah, he knew _things_ about Harry, things other people probably didn’t know about. Things the boy entrusted him with and even though he was immensely flattered by being deemed worthy of carrying the boy’s secret, he really wished he was never let in on some of the details of Harry’s life.

Now, he was knee-deep in a literal shithole he dug for himself, captivated by a promise of great money and bettering ordinary lives of his mother and himself. He never anticipated the change that had occurred in his view of Harry. He expected to stay the same amount of biased towards the boy as he was from the very start of his investigation. Yet another product of music industry, carefully tailored to fill the demand of teenaged fans that craved somebody new, exciting and most of all, attractive; somebody they could have wet dreams about and whose sappy songs about love they could enjoy, that's all.

And while his first impression wasn’t necessarily wrong, there was still a lot more to Harry than he first realized. Well, he could’ve seen that coming, really. It was hard to get to know somebody from interviews filled with half-assed answers or avoiding giving them at all, the speciality of Harry Styles.

For the longest time, he tried to convince himself that him getting closer to the boy was only his way of getting what he was contracted to get. It worked for a while, he seemed to be fooled by his own lies. But now, there was really no denying that there was something more to the two of them than a fake friendship, meticulously manufactured by Louis, who would look really fucking stupid trying to stick to his claim with his fingers entwined in the dark hair of a boy he was hired to pretty much exploit.

"The book." Harry nodded, finally pulling Louis out of this inner conflict he started to delve dangerously deep into. Being as unusually busy as he was since the tour had started, he barely had time to torture himself with the products of his disturbed psyche, especially that his brain was pretty preoccupied with the turmoil he was experiencing in his current, family life. There was not enough time to worry about both Harry and his mother at the moment, and saying which one was his priority wasn't really necessary. "Do you believe in God?" The boy seemed to take Lou's silence as consent and asked his question without beating around the bush.

The seriousness of the inquiry was very far from the atmosphere around them that somewhere along the way loosened significantly without much reason at all, maybe it was doing of the AC that finally started to kick in properly.

Harry's furrowed eyebrows met with a similar expression on Louis' face. The question seemed easy at first, but then, it really wasn't. For the longest time, Tomlinson had a quite troubled relationship with all things divine, and while he considered himself a believer a few years back, he wasn't so sure after all, especially his mother's diagnosis shook his outlook on heavenly matters to the point where he was just plain confused.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to give Harry a clear answer to the question he was asked, he did, especially after the boy so honestly (hopefully), answered everything Louis ever asked him, often further elaborating on the subjects, very unlike the persona he was adapting to during the interviews. His honesty, further encouraged by the intimate relationship they’ve managed to develop, while very appreciated, wasn’t really ideal in Lou’s eyes. It’s not like he didn’t want Harry to trust him, of course, he wanted that. The issue was more in whether or not he was trusting in his ability to keep the things he was trusted with a secret.

"I… dunno anymore." His front teeth started nibbling on the inside of his cheek, an action that clearly showed his discomfort, and Harry quite quickly caught up on it and started recognizing it for what it was. "Do you?" Bouncing the ball to the boy's court seemed like the best idea, it cut the opportunity to further question his answer that wasn't really answering anything at all.

A mysterious smirk bent Harry’s lips as he untangled the lace from around his slender fingers and lifted his left hand, pretty much rubbing the cross he had tattooed on the base of his thumb in Louis’ face.

"Never noticed that one." Louis shrugged, reaching his index finger to trace the black shape, one of many embellishing Harry's skin. In his defence, it wasn't really hard to miss one or two of the tattoos, considering that upon being asked, even the brunette wasn't sure about the exact number he had done. He speculated that there were around sixty of them, but then, he had some covered up, and his whole archive got messed up.

"Your lack of perception is quite surprising, especially considering your profession." The brunette noticed and wiggled out of Louis' lap, letting the clammy skin he was pressed against breathe and cool down.

“Sorry, mister tattoo expert, I wonder how many of mine you know by heart.” Tomlinson scoffed out the answer to the teasing, groaning in relief when he was finally allowed to take off the weight of his body from his strained tailbone. To change things up and take some of the work from his bottom, he rolled on his side, his head propped on the bent elbow as he stared down at the boy who stretched his limbs on the majority of the mattress they were sharing.

Harry's face showed the thought process he was going through, and Louis could pretty much hear the boy ask himself how many of the writer's tattoos he actually could remember from the top of his head. The duration of the moment made Lou's cheeks fill with blood, a fierce blush blooming on the apples of his cheeks when he realized that perhaps he wasn't very observant at all. "More than you, at least!" The boy grinned, following the line of Lou's resting arm with an index finger, hanging his eyes on some of the pieces and their questionable quality. Although, Louis knew that Harry wasn't really the one to have any say when it came to judging other people's pieces, having some boogers immortalized on his body as well as Louis did, especially that god awful tiger on his thigh, the one he just _had to_ ask about when he saw it for the first time.

“You still haven’t seen the pièce de résistance though.” He wanted to slap himself for the toothy smile that crept its way onto his face, showing off all the imperfections of his dental situation that considering the national standard, or rather the stigma that was spread all over the world, wasn’t really that bad at all; still, far from his greatest features. “I have a very tasteful tramp stamp. The greatest achievement of contemporary art. Warhol could never!” The joke seemed to have done good, both with the writer and the singer, chuckles mixed together for a beat before they fizzled out, leaving the two of them in silence that wasn’t all that quiet at all. Louis hadn’t really remembered when exactly he tuned his ears in a way that made his brain fully ignore the sounds accompanying the cross-continent journey from one capital to another.

“Now I’m curious.” Styles sighed, sticking his eyes to the low ceiling of their metal box of an accommodation. He took a few, slow breaths and let his eyes fell closed. “Can I ask you something else?

Harry’s tone indicated that the question was going to be everything but pleasant and light-hearted. And while yeah, he didn’t mind having those honest, open-hearted conversations with the boy, he, without a doubt, enjoyed being the interviewer more than the vulnerable position he found himself in right now. Even though he was fully aware that he owed some honesty in exchange for a whole load he was blessed with before, he couldn’t help his mind that did everything in its power to steer the conversation away from any serious matters. “Yes, I am a virgin.” A deep sigh emerged from deep inside of him, trying to fight the laughter that started building up from the moment he thought about that answer.

This time though, Styles seemed everything _but_ entertained, clearly giving away that the matter he wanted to nudge was important to him. Stubbornness pinched his eyebrows together, lips pursed for a second before he opened his mouth, rounding it on nothing as he visibly tried to find correct words, filling Louis with worry about the subject of his inquiry, considering that it took the brunette quite this long to approach it as carefully as he could.

“Is it your mother?” He finally broke the silence, deciding on the direct approach after a struggle of not being able to word it more considerately. It wasn’t a surprise that his question met with confusion. “Is it why you’re so…” A deep sigh deflated his puffed-up chest. “Is it why you’re smoking? Why ‘your life is falling apart’?” He put Louis’ own words in air-quotations and let his arms fall to his sides with a thud mightier than it would be appropriate.

Right at that moment, Louis wished he could just teleport them back in time those three hours or so, prevent himself from being caught smoking and stop himself from breaking the illusion that everything in his life was fine and dandy for the sake of making a joke. There was really not a chance for their conversations not to end in either being utterly and emotionally _drained,_ left vulnerable to deal with the aftermath of going in too deep and unlocking doors that were not to be unlocked.

It wasn’t very often when Louis was left with shit to deal with on his own; usually, he was the one pressing for answers and let’s just say that he didn’t feel very good with himself at the moment, feeling the things he pressured Harry into almost on the daily.

Of course, it was his mother, it always was these days. The bills were piling up, dues like a dark cloud, hanging above his head, threatening to come falling down at any given moment. While he managed to cover the expenses of the first change of medication, this only pushed the button and started a chain reaction of more and more meds being switched since they were ‘no longer compatible’, leaving the boy broke, overwhelmed and pretty fucking terrified that his crisis resources were soon to be drained.

His stupid brain decided that it was a great time to make him look like a wimp, tears he wasn't aware he could even produce welling in his eyes in a very convenient time, right when Harry opened his eyes after deciding that it was a good idea to push for an answer he wasn't given.

The state he found his friend in was enough of a response, and while Louis finally managed to push back the tears to the depths of his supposedly dead soul, the damage was already done. His breaths became uneven and feeling the breakdown approaching, he decided that leaving was his best option before he makes a fool out of himself.

Louis Tomlinson did not cry, he just _didn’t._ The last time he remembered humiliating himself in such a way was around the age of thirteen, after one of the fights with his mother, angry that she grounded him after he's done yet another stupid thing he didn't remember anymore. After that, he hasn't seen himself cry at all, and he was going to keep it that way. Fuck, if he was able to receive the news about his mother's terminal disease with dry eyes, he was not going to break now, in front of a person that couldn't give less fucks about him and his problems, having a fair share of his own shit to deal with.

Just when his feet tapped the comically minuscule square of carpet, he felt fingers clutching at the edge of his t-shirt, pulling him back onto the bed. Immediately, he started creating scenarios that would help him get away from this oversharing hell but now, filled with another tsunami of thoughts revolving around his mother, Louis was pretty incapable of thinking straight.

“I’m tired.” He mumbled in the last, desperate attempt to get away from Harry and his nosiness. The grasp of the cotton hasn’t eased up a single bit; even more, it seemed like it got even tighter, just as if Styles feared that his friend was going to risk it all and make a run for it.

In one, swift motion, the brunette kicked the pile of pillows off the bed, leaving only one on the left side of the mattress. “Go on then, lay down.” He instructed, his words completely brushing over Louis, who still looked at the sliding door with a stubborn look at his face.

Harry tugged on the material firmly, bringing Lou’s silhouette, wobbly from the exhaustion on the firm mattress.

"Ouch." The writer's face contorted in reaction to being manhandled with a strength he wouldn't suspect Harry of having. Although only then he remembered the times the boy made him go to the gym with him and reminiscing his impressive scores, it wasn't all that surprising at all.

“Sorry.” The regret in Styles’ voice seemed genuine enough that Louis couldn’t snap at him, even though that was the most promising escape plan he had. It would take some screaming and maybe nudging Harry’s feelings just a bit to be left alone for the night; but now, it didn’t really seem he would get a viable reason to instigate a fight.

Giving up the fight (at least for now), Louis laid on the mattress, rolling his body right to the edge to distance himself as much as it was possible. His back was turned to the boy who still held onto his t-shirt, lessening the older man's apprehension to picking a fight for no reason.

Louis felt stupid, idiotic really. He shouldn’t feel anger, there was no reason his friend’s worriedness should infuriate him as much as it seemed to. And yes, Harry was quite persistent in his endeavour, but he still didn’t deserve the fruitful bunches of insults that were being made especially for him in that part of Lou’s brain that decided to take the task upon itself.

His irrational behaviour struck a memory he kept behind locked door longer than he remembered keeping it there for. It felt eerily reminiscent of his teenaged years when he would get frustrated and lash out on his mother in reaction to every thoughtful thing she had ever done for him and while he thought he was way over this whole issue, the absolute dread of being cared for lost somewhere in the last stretch of his puberty, that quality decided to return at the worst possible moment.

The difference was that he was long done with being a child, there was no justification for what he felt, and he knew that damn well. He decided to abandon the plan of picking a fight, foreseeing all the ways it could end badly and turned on his belly, relaxing his body on the edge of the bed, trying to fall asleep so this nightmare could be over, and they could go back to talking about mundane things like shows, food or even gym for that matter, everything was better than this.

He felt the big palm flattening on the small of his back, the pads of long fingers, smoothing over the crumpled fabric, bringing him a whole lot of comfort from the simplest of touches. “Is there something I can do?” Harry’s rasp returned with the question he knew the answer to. “We’re friends, I want to help _._ ” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking, mind racing for a solution that was simply not there. _Well,_ the singer could think of one thing that could ease the whole process for Louis and his mum, a thing he would, without a thought in his mind, part with but he also knew better than offering Tomlinson money, even though both of them knew he had more of it than he would ever be able to spend.

Seeing that his questions were to be left unanswered, he reached his hand and hovered it above Louis’ head for a second, rethinking his action but then, he let his fingers entangle in the chestnut hair that was overdue for a cut, the tips grazing Louis’ scalp with the same unconsciously emotionally packed mindlessness as his hair was stroked just a few minutes prior, before he encountered how his friend’s unbothered demeanour cracked right in front of his eyes.

A soft huff of air, brushing the corner of a pillow made Harry think that the man fell asleep, exhausted by the emotional journey he went through just now. Before he could lay down for the night, he managed to mumble a few words that even though Styles knew, were utter bullshit, still made him feel uneasy. "We're not friends." Fell from Tomlinson's lips, followed by a soft snore that finally eased the worry Harry felt about his friend, at least for that night.


	13. Chapter 13

"Harry, cut it out, for the love of God!" A soft, but decided voice scolded the boy from above a plate of steamy mushroom ravioli. The woman threw a sharp gaze at her son as she urged him to finish fooling around.

The singer didn’t seem to have any intention to do as his mother said and continued with his shenanigans with a mocking smirk on his face.

Louis kicked his friend’s shin, bringing the brunette’s attention to himself while absentmindedly stirring in his pasta, coating all of it in a sauce that managed to slip off if. “Yeah, I think it’s time to give up, Haz.” The writer supported Harry’s mum as she disciplined her son, at least tried to. It’s not exactly like he was doing this for the sake of the woman, he had his own motivation.

The plan for their Manchester escapade had changed significantly from where it was before they’ve gotten there. It was their third night in the city even though they haven’t planned on any of that. 

From the moment the show had started, Louis’ and Harry’s mothers had become quite chummy, their brief relationship quickly progressing as the night went on. Louis wasn’t sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he hated how he was left to fend for himself in the VIP section of the audience with three, very much blasé models that for some reason stuck around for the end of the European leg. The reason for that revealed itself the following morning, when surprisingly high-quality pictures of the happy pair were blown all over the trashy news outlets. 

Well... long story short, the women were so engaged in a conversation about what Louis could only deem 'mother stuff', he was stranded with nothing to do other than feeling redundant and even though it was embarrassing to admit, he kind of feel a sting of being forgotten by his mother who he felt like should care more about seeing her beloved son after a lengthy separation. But then, there was no denying that Harry Styles and his mother were far more exciting than a boring son, so he couldn't blame his mum.

Harry being Harry, seeing how good the women got along, proposed that they stay a bit longer in the city, spend some time together and if Lou wasn’t necessarily ecstatic about the idea, he figured that seeing how his friend behaved around his mother could provide some good material. So, with that in mind, he agreed. 

He wasn’t going to say that seeing his mum socialize with people different than him and her neighbour didn’t make him happy and that was the deciding factor after the content stuff, of course.

They weren’t doing anything too important, really. They’ve seen a movie in the cinema, walked a bit around the city and just hung out, talking about nothing in particular. Not once was the lack of the girlfriend questioned; not by Lou’s mother who was just too polite to ever do that, not by Harry’s who obviously had to be aware of the situation in that particular relationship.

Right now, they were nearing the end of the last day in Manchester, before they were to part and head to their home towns to spend some time before it was the time for their Japan vacation. 

The restaurant Harry booked them a table in was posh, to put it lightly. All of them were dressed elegantly, on their best behaviour, except Harry himself.

Somewhere along the course of the evening, unfortunately after placing their full orders, he and Louis got into a very pointless debate about which utensil was more useful; spoon or a fork. Despite their mother's attempts at cutting the argument down, they were too stubborn to let it go and ended up betting if Harry was able to go through the whole dinner without using a fork.

He was doing quite well, the lucky stars on his side when he ordered soup. His luck had ran out though, making him look ridiculous, trying to get through a huge steak with a spoon and a knife only. And people were _staring_ , although Louis wasn’t really sure if that was caused by the boy’s bizarre behaviour or just his identity. Either way, he didn’t look like he was anywhere close to giving up, no matter how stupid he looked eating the steak. 

“I hope somebody took pictures and will blow them all over the internet.” Louis’ bitter tone made itself known when he pulled a twenty out of his wallet and tried to hand it to Harry who took care of the bill, tipping the staff generously for having to watch his performance the whole evening. The mums took the lead and were slowly getting away from them. 

Harry quickly slapped his wallet shut and pushed it into the pocket of his bizarrely wide pants that were the most atrocious piece of clothing Louis had ever seen. "Keep it." He shook his head as he refused the bill he was handed, walking away before the man could insist. "Get you and your mum a drink from me." His face grinned, the smile vanished as soon as he remembered that Lou's mom didn't drink and while the fact itself wasn't bad at all, the reason why she didn't, was.

The sudden sadness he was engulfed in completely discouraged him from refusing the twenty that was pushed into his pocket by the writer who felt like keeping the money would put a stain on his dignity. 

Their way to the hotel was filled with the chirping of the mothers that thankfully was prominent enough to make up for the silence of the other two.

It turned out to be later than any of them thought it was, causing them to separate instead of hanging out for a bit longer, like they did the last two nights. Exhausted from the day of walking around the city, Louis fell asleep, mere minutes after he got back into his hotel room.

-

"Ello." A voice broke out in Louis' ears, way too chirpy for the early hour and way too unexpected for where he was laying, the words feeling like needles, prickling his brain. "Oh, wow." Harry said, dragging out the vowel and when the writer finally brought himself to open his eyes to see what exactly gained quite this reaction, he found the brunette glancing at the wall above his bed.

A muffled groan was pushed out of his lungs when he remembered the embarrassing display of early 2000’s David Beckham posters that even though faded from the sun, still hung above his bed on nothing but pieces of chewing gum that apparently were a good way to go, keeping the pictures in place for over a decade.

At the moment, turning to the other side and continuing sleeping seemed like a great idea, but then, he remembered that his room had quite an array of more embarrassing things Harry could stumble upon during his tour. The first thing he could think of was a heavily used issue of _Playgirl_ magazine he swiped from one of his friend's sister way back in the day and refused to toss away for sentimental reasons, the most frequent companion of Louis' evenings during puberty. At least before his mother got the memo about the internet.

Even if he had found it, that would be far from the most embarrassing moment he had with Harry though. It was only a few days prior when he felt like committing suicide after the most humiliating experience of his life.

For the most part, their whole tour went smooth, without any major turbulences but of course, the last hotel they’ve stayed in just _had to_ have issues with Louis’ (well, Jeff’s) card when it came to billing. Just when Louis was ready to, very begrudgingly, pay with his private card, Harry was already paying for his stay, promising that he’s going to get reimbursed for it since he just knew how the writer hated even thinking about owing him money.

There’s nothing horrible about the whole situation, right? WRONG. Upon paying, Harry was given a bill for all the rooms he paid for, including their mother’s. And nothing would be wrong if it wasn’t for the fact that Louis developed a habit of ordering the overpriced porn in the pay per view service. The worst thing was that he rarely ever watched it anyway, the selection in the category he was interested in very narrow and not appealing at all. But try to explain that to Harry who had quite a laugh at him, absolutely refusing to believe that it was just Lou’s way to make the bill as big as he could in a protest against the boss, whom he grew to despise, even though they barely kept in touch anymore and when it happened, it was mostly through Harry since Louis for some, mysterious reason was never available when the man called him.

Another howl followed the first one as he sat down on the bed, his bare feet sticking to the floor as he tightly wrapped the thin sheet around his body before he had a chance to flash Harry Styles since he might have been sleeping naked during those swelters. The curtains maybe weren't doing the best job, way worse at blocking the light than the hotel standard, Louis got used to, but even the softening of those beams that shone directly into his window was a blessing.

That thought and opening of his tired eyes were regretted the second Harry decided to open the curtains, letting those hellish rays flood the entire room with golden light that was everything but desired at the moment.

It wasn't really necessary to say that he was hungover, the state quite obvious from the way he looked at the moment. His bloodshot eyes, greenish complexion and the slump in his silhouette very familiar to him, as well as Harry who already learned to recognize that particular state.

Just for the record, he wasn't drinking alone. He wasn't sure how far from doing that he was, but it wasn't just yet that he was ready to acknowledge his misery and take the last step of humiliating himself.

Somehow, he stumbled upon a friend from school while getting groceries and from word to word, they’ve ended up getting the gang together and getting absolutely smashed on cheap booze, just like they used to all those years before. The gathering had ended when the sun was already rolling onto the sky, the shortness of his rest at least somewhat responsible for the way he looked and felt.

“Of course, you were _that_ guy.” Harry shook his head, dark hair bouncing around it as he came back to inspecting the Beckham display above the bed. He let his body fall back and laid on Louis’ bed.

The fuzziness in his brain made it tricky for Lou to understand what exactly the boy meant with that derisive tone to his voice. His elbows found their way to his knees, face falling into his open palms, fingers rubbing the tired eyes to the point of almost poking them out. It was relieving for some weird, twisted reason.

“Becky was probably a snore for such a character as you, yeah?” He asked when Harry’s words fully got to him after an embarrassingly long while. “Who it was for you, Mr Bean?” A throaty laugh escaped his pipes before he realized he was capable of producing a sound like that. 

The springs of his ancient mattress croaked when he got up from the bed, dragging the sheet on the floor as he toed to the door of his bedroom. He gave his friend a meaningful gaze, telling him to stay put as he was going to shower because, _fuck,_ he needed to, desperately.

With the half-assed, unsatisfyingly short shower, he was back in his bedroom in no time. Surprisingly, he found it to be empty, and only then he connected the dots in his head. Apparently, Harry was the person he heard his mother talk to when he was walking the short distance from the shared bathroom to his room that wasn’t really his anymore, although it was on his mum that it still looked like the day he left for good.

Afraid of what his mother could possibly let out to Harry, very negative towards the lack of ability to keep a check on their conversation, he pulled a pair of briefs on his hips and quickly left the bedroom, crossing the distance to the kitchen in seconds.

Just as he expected, he found Harry on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs that his mother liked to find and restore, although painting them in bright colours might not have been enough to call it a restoration. Whatever… the brunette was there, sitting on a bright pink, wooden chair with a cup in between his fingers. If Louis didn't know his mother as good as he did, he'd suspect that the fact that Styles was served whatever beverage he was sipping on in a mug from the photoshoot Louis had in the first year of his school education was a coincidence, but it sure as hell wasn't and he knew that as well as his mum, who grinned at him from the green chair that was usually Louis'.

"Tobey Maguire." Harry whispered the second Lou sat on the last, yellow chair at the opposite end of the table. His mother left her place after proposing to reheat the English muffins that she and Harry apparently managed to eat when he was still asleep. He wondered how long the boy was in his apartment and how in the hell he even got his address in the first place. It was pretty obvious that his mother was on it, but it took him a while to realize that.

After just a second of contemplating what the hell the brunette was on about, Louis scoffed, nearly spitting the entire sip of tea, his mother gave him, all over the singer. "And I am the boring one?" His eyes rolled to the sky before he got back to Harry's face, the smug smirk on his face annoying the shit out of him. "Fucking Spiderman." He whispered under his nose and shook his head, regretting it immediately when it felt like his brain was sloshing inside of his skull.

“Give me the fanciest drink a tenner can get me, twice.” Harry fished a twenty from his wallet, putting it on the wooden top of a bar they’ve walked into a while ago. The bartender swiped the bill and got started on the drinks. “Cut the booze on one, please.” Brunette added, foreshadowing more driving over the course of their last day in the UK.

Louis wasn't really sure what exactly was happening when he was taken there. All he knew was that Styles wanted to show him some things around the place he grew up in that he thought could be useful for the book. And while the boy was never very cooperative when it came to giving away content, the situation flipped significantly after that one night when they've watched _Casablanca_ together, and even if Tomlinson didn't want to think about the reason why the situation had changed, he had an idea what made the singer so eager to share things after initially swearing he wasn't going to give him anything.

And while the awareness that the boy was taking pity on him after he pretty much broke down in front of him wasn't the greatest thing to carry on his shoulders, he was not too proud to refuse anything that was thrown at him. He was far from a situation, in which he could let himself to. So, he appreciated everything he could get, even if it was on Harry's terms and he kept a tab on whatever he was spilling.

They sat at the barstools next to each other, elbows propped on the bar as they waited for the concoction the bartender was preparing for the two of them. Louis swayed his legs in the air, obviously too short to reach the ground and looked to the side, studying the face of a man whom he was accompanying. “I always thought things like that happened only in movies.” He finally brought himself to break the silence between them. He was met with a confused gaze that made him elaborate. “You know, the whole being discovered in a bar thing, especially _here_.” The scoff he pushed out came out borderline offensive.

Well, it’s not like he didn’t have a reason to doubt the origin story he was given. After all, who the hell goes from playing to a bar full of drunks in some middle of nowhere bar to selling out twenty thousand arenas all over the world? He’d lie if he said that he didn’t have his doubts about the tale he read before he even met Harry, further confirmed by the boy in question.

The brunette stirred in his seat, wrapping his fingers around the fancy glass that was set before him by a woman that turned out not to be somebody he expected to see behind the bar. Thinking that he's going to see Joel after all those years that had passed since the boy was working there was quite delusional, especially considering how much of a dump this establishment was, making the workers rotate quite frequently but somewhere in the back of his head, he had his mind, set on reunion that apparently wasn't going to happen.

The colourful straw was clasped in between his lips, the orange liquid sucked for a bit before he cleared his throat. “Yeah… same, really.” His shoulders shrugged a bit after that very frugal answer. 

“But you still came here, every night and played?” A fond smile broke the blank expression on Lou’s face, spreading on Harry’s lips in a blink of an eye.

"Not every night but yeah, I did." The level of liquid in his glass went down in record speed. "Guess it was more like the right place, right time kind of situation."

"I think you'd make it even if you weren't here that day." The lie slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. It's not like he didn't believe in Harry's abilities, but the industry is merciless, making it very hard to get started. "You're so talented." He surprised himself with how easy it came to him to say that. Even if Harry's stuff wasn't necessarily his cup of tea, there was really no denying that he was gifted.

“There’s a lot of talented people out there, playing shit gigs for nothing in return. It’s purely luck.”

A beat of silence filled with the clinking of glasses that they chose to ignore passed before Louis chose to speak again. "You can't guilt-trip yourself because you've made it and others did not." A deep sigh he pulled out of Harry was enough of an answer. "For whatever it's worth, I'm glad that this happened to you."

“Yeah, I bet you’d be devastated if I wasn’t in the industry right now. What would you do without another out of touch with reality spoiled popstar with inflated ego?”

"I never thought about you in that way." He tapped his fingers on the rim of his glass, nearly knocking it over with force unparalleled to the weight of the halfway filled vessel. "Okay, I might have… in the beginning."

“What changed your mind?” A dark eyebrow cocked up, clearly showing the interest Harry had in the answer to the question he asked. “About me?” He brought himself to ask after they’ve cut the topic and moved on to their usual, effortless banter. It was bizarre that he even decided to come back to it, but this only spoke for the fact that he’s been thinking about their previous conversation the whole time and if that wasn’t the most Harry thing to do, Louis didn’t know what was.

They weren't in the bar anymore, there's only so much time a person can walk around a bar that wasn't very unusual at all; the fact that Harry's career started off in it the most interesting factor. After that, the brunette insisted on going somewhere else, and that's how they've ended up on some sort of beaten up bench on a patch of overgrown grass, somewhat secluded from the main area of another, bigger green patch, deemed a park by Styles even though it was far from anything Louis would've called a park. Perhaps it was how small-town folks saw them, he couldn't know.

Children’s laughter could’ve been heard from between loud creaking of exhausted swing set they were taking turns on since the rusted slide wasn’t nearly as entertaining and that was for the better. Seeing the state of the thing, Louis was suspecting an upcoming tetanus outbreak as soon as kids decided to use the slide. He could easily see Harry having fun on that poor excuse of a playground as a kid, considering that with its mediocrity (even that was a compliment), the place was the most fun a village had to offer for children. 

He snapped out of his thoughts, trying to find an answer to Harry's question. The problem was, Louis wasn't really sure what exactly changed his mind. It just sort of happened. One day he remembered rolling his eyes at Styles' bullshit for the bigger part of his day, the next one there was none of that left. "I don't know what I've expected you to be like, but it was a surprise to see you sport that stupid hoodie of yours on the daily instead of roaming around the house in a coat made of puppy fur and Gucci slides." He struck one, particular memory in his endeavour to find a better answer than the one he gave. "I guess that book was a big part…" His answer not clear enough, gaining him a questioning look. Okay, the confusion was understandable, considering that there was quite a number of books Harry recommended him. "The Bukowski one."

"Yeah? What about it?" Louis knew better than to believe the faux curiosity in Harry's voice, the boy knew exactly what the writer was talking about and if it wasn't the hesitant tone to his voice that gave him away, it would've been the fierce blush on his cheeks that flourished when the boy remembered the secrets his issue of Bukowski's poetry kept.

At that moment, Tomlinson was speechless. While the soft pink that bloomed on Harry's cheeks might have been nothing in comparison to deep maroon that sometimes flooded his own face, the thing that made it so unusual, was the fact that it was probably the first time he ever witnessed Harry blushing. For the entirety of their friendship, the boy was the most delightful kind of shameless, and he would've lied if he told that this wasn't one of his favourite qualities of Harry's. It was refreshing to see him all sheepish though, made him look more human-like and it never really showed quite this much that he was just like everybody else.

“You’re a fraud, Tomlinson.” Harry only accused, face low as he eyed apparently unusually interesting blade of overgrown grass that stuck out from where the rest was down after being stomped on by the two of them. It was very much clear that he was avoiding Louis’ gaze.

With no intention of giving up, slightly encouraged by the alcohol content in the embarrassingly fruity drink he had before and the fumes from the night prior, the writer turned and straddled the bench. He was not entirely sure, but more likely than not, he had ripped the leg of his shorts on the tip of a nail that stuck out from the side of the bench.

"And you dare to say that I'm not observant." Harry could hear the smile where he couldn't really see it. "Although, it might have been desperation more than anything." The man pushed himself forwards, supporting his body weight on two hands, pressed to the faded bench in between his parted thighs. He still wasn't being looked at, and while he never was the kind to strive for attention, he could use some at that moment; he really hated when people avoided eye-contact in conversation. "Hey, look at me." The demand came off harsher than it was intended to sound. It was successful though, Harry's eyes slowly drifting towards his and that dire look was very much prominent, the same one the boy got when he caught himself slipping something, he shouldn't have shared. "Don't do… all that." His right hand flew up and gestured around the sour look on brunette's face, unintentionally brushing the side of his jaw. Styles recoiled instantaneously, his eyes darting to scan the premises for a single soul that might have had caught the brief moment.

He should be insulted, the reaction he got after just barely scraping his fingertips along Harry’s jawline was way too extreme for his offence which he didn’t really find inappropriate in the first place. It was quite obvious that they were past the time when you’d have to apologize for every touch, their lips had met too many times for that to be the case. 

The source of the reaction wasn't really alien to him though, he knew that the whole thing would've taken a whole different route if they were alone. Although Louis really doubted that there was anybody around them, especially a person who would've taken an interest in the situation, he wasn't going to bash the boy for this bit of paranoia that stuck with him even now, that they were in the middle of nowhere, shielded from the rest of the world by the lush grove.

"Sorry." The apology slipped out before Louis could even decide whether it was what he was supposed to do. "I am not going to use any of the stuff from the book, don't worry about that." He promised, and it seemed to have helped, a deep exhale pushed out of Harry's lungs; the boy not aware that just like many others, Louis' words didn't carry too substantial of a value, his lack of credibility directly connected with a certain part of the deal the writer signed with the singer's manager.

Louis pushed an empty plate, painted with dark streaks of sauce onto the coffee table and with the last flash of energy, he managed to lift his legs up on the couch he occupied for the duration of the evening. “I cannot believe you’ve done this to me.” An accusatory groan shot up at Harry whose eyes darted back to his friend, sprawled on the biggest couch, hands pressed to the belly that poked out just a bit after the dinner that could’ve fed three people.

It was a little short to five when the boys finished the tour around the spots that were significant to Harry for one reason or another. When the door to Styles' mum's house flung open, the most divine smell imaginable hit Louis, his nostrils flared to record size as he tracked the scent to find the source in the kitchen.

Turned out that Styles requested his mother to make them traditional roast and fuck, he could’ve practically been reading Lou’s mind because that’s the exact thing he was craving. He was really quite disappointed when he was taken away from his home before his mum could whip out her famous recipe and serve one of Lou’s favourite meals. Being the most cliché Brit he could be, the writer just _knew_ that this was going to be the thing he misses the most while abroad, just as he missed it while in LA.

His excitement sky-rocketed when he realized that his wish will come true and even though it wasn’t going to be his own mum’s staple recipe, he was ready to settle for Anne’s because being as desperate as he was at the moment, he’d settle even on a restaurant one even if they never really came close to the true, homemade stuff.

He had troubles keeping himself in check, salivating profusely from the moment the realization of dinner plans hit him, and Harry wasn't making things any easier on him, marvelling over his mother's culinary genius after he realized how actually exhilarated the thought of a roast made Louis.

Apart from their little sour patch in conversation, both of them were in great moods for the bigger part of the day. When things were just like that, Styles just _loved_ taking the piss out of Louis, repaying him for all the times the situation was reversed which was…. well, pretty much the entire time they've spent together, and that was a lot of fucking time.

Right now, Louis was sure he'd see a satisfied smirk on his friend's face if his head hasn't felt nearly as heavy as it did and lifting it wasn't completely out of the question. The realization that Styles drew great pleasure from seeing him suffer like that hung heavy on him and if there was a way he could even move at the moment, he was sure he'd end up punching mister superstar, and without any approaching shows for the next five weeks, there wouldn't be a thing stopping him from bruising that handsomely goofy face of his.

As much as disturbing the visual actually was, Louis felt like every crevice of his body was filled with chewed up food, mixed together in a mass indistinguishable from the impeccably presented roast he was served almost an hour prior. Upon filling the plate with second serving, he could predict regretting the decision but being the greedy bastard that he was, he went for seconds either way. What was surprising, was the fact that even though he was absolutely miserable, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any bite he took of the dinner, every single one very much appreciated and not regretted at all.

Harry wasn’t lying this time, not that he had a habit of doing that on other occasions; Anne’s cooking was utterly glorious. Every single component, from the main event, a heavenly piece of sirloin that dissolved on a tongue the second it was put there, to the gravy that hit all the right spots on Lou’s palate. And if the spice blend of Anne’s sauce tickled his fancy the slightest bit more than one of his mother’s, that was a secret he was going to take to his grave.

Anne was still nowhere in sight, the woman disappeared into the heavenly atmosphere of her garden, tending to her impressive flower patches. Even though she most likely had an array of gardeners eager to take that weight off her shoulders with a little tip of Harry’s wallet, she chose to do it herself. Louis never was the one to see the appeal in digging in the soil with bare hands, ever since his mother used to keep a small caricature of a vegetable garden. And if she made him do as little as water it whenever she was busy, that was the worst chore that he was ever made to do, although he wasn’t the one to help around the flat too much either way, so he could’ve been dramatic about it.

Gaining the confidence from the absence of the lady, whose presence was the only thing keeping him in check, Louis decided to let himself go and only seconds after, the loudest burp he produced this year resounded in the living room. If he didn’t know better than overblowing his power to such monstrous sized, he’d think that vibrating of the walls wasn’t only the product of his imagination.

The great relief he felt after releasing the air he managed to swallow while hastily shoving food into his mouth, made his body just the tiniest bit looser, enough to give him some wiggle room to lift his back to the position where he could, at least, see his friend who looked at him with his lips parted and something in the shape of recognition in his eyes. Looked like it wasn’t only Louis who was impressed with his outstanding performance.

There was an attempt at changing the position to one that would be more comfortable than the one he found himself in at the moment but as soon as he even tried to twist his body onto the side, he felt like he was going to die. “The plane is going down.” A despaired voice broke the silence, Harry’s eyes drifting away from the screen of his phone and sticking to Lou’s face, eyebrows pinched together, looking for an answer. “I’m too fat for it to carry me.” He explained, gaining himself an overdramatic roll of the green eyes, few feet across from him. “And it’s all your fault.” The speech concluded with a pained groan as the man irrationally tried to push his bulging tummy back into his frame, the little hill of pale flesh poking from under the t-shirt that rode up a bit.

A familiar, mocking smirk found its way back on Styles’ lips as he looked at his friend’s futile efforts to hide the tummy that in the owner’s eyes looked like he might as well have swallowed a beach ball. “I’ve heard that they are good with neonatal care in Japan, there’s no need for you to worry yourself.” The smile widened even further at the comment.

Words Harry spoke confused the writer just a bit, leaving him with a question mark, the puzzlement visible in his expression. “Neo… what?” He gave up and decided to ask, feeling just a tad embarrassed that he was the one asking for a definition of a word he felt like he’s heard before but didn’t really know in what context.

It wasn't really that surprising, really. What was though, was the fact that this was the first time he had to ask the embarrassing question. See, Harry Styles had a habit of vowing outlandish, outdated vocabulary into casual conversations and if it wasn't for the fact that Louis prided himself in quite an extensive vocabulary himself, he was sure he'd find himself being confused way more often than he did actually. He was partially sure that it was the singer's love for literature that resulted in him picking up those kooky terms, archaic idioms and throwing them at unsuspecting folk that were either brave enough to ask or just nodded and pretended they understood what he was saying. The second theory was that the boy had something to prove, but that wasn't a very viable explanation, just one that Louis used from time to time when he found something irritating about this Harry Styles persona.

The green eyes squinted a bit, pushed by the apples of Harry's cheeks that were pinched by the grin that crept onto his face, prompted by the question. What was so funny? Louis wished he knew. Maybe it was some twisted game that the boy was playing, flattering his apparently extraordinary genius on other people's expense. "Neonatal as in… for babies, newborns." The man shook his head, his untouched hair messily slapping on the sides of his head. "That belly's about to pop." He explained his joke, and sure enough, it was just as atrocious as the rest of his attempts at comedy.

There was no denying that Harry Styles was a universally gifted person but comedy, oh boy… that was not one of his strong suits and that was to put things lightly. He could be _funny_ , Louis had seen him be very amusing at times, most of those moments very much unintentional. Exactly, Harry’s successful comedic performances were either an effect of pure luck or meticulously scripted lines like the ones he was given during his appearance on _Saturday Night Live_ and the ‘internship’ he had on _Late Late Show_ a while back.

This situation was not unlike the others, another joke that fell flat but even fully aware of that, Louis decided to scoff at it, seeing that the brunette was rather proud of this particular joke. "Harry Styles is a rude, fat-shaming bastard." Tomlinson tapped his chin with a fingertip, making a spectacle of taking a mental note just to maybe make the boy feel better about himself. "Treat People With Kindness, my ass." Unlike Harry's, the writer's wit was very much present at all times, his little scene gaining a laugh from the singer who gazed at him with something inscrutable in his gaze. If Louis didn't know better, he'd deem it as fondness, although he could see some extra layers somewhere in the green of the eyes looking at him.

As soon as the mysterious look flashed in Harry's eyes, it was gone. The focus went back to the screen of the phone, looking extremely busy all of a sudden, maybe a little too busy for the act to be believable.

Nobody was speaking for the longest time, too long if Louis was asked for an opinion. It was just one of these days when silence didn’t sit well with him, he had some of those days from time to time. Harry didn’t seem to share his outlook though, still very much preoccupied with whatever he was doing on his phone.

With nothing better to do, Louis grabbed the abandoned remote from where it was laying just to the right of Harry’s socked feet, propped on the side of the coffee table. He started shuffling through the channels, skipping them in a speed that wouldn’t let him hang an eye on anything for long enough to even know what was airing. Seeing that his little adventure was possibly irritating his companion, he opened the list and started looking around the abundance of channels in that way.

Just when he noticed a position he was all of the sudden _very_ interested in, to say the least, he clicked the button and pushed the remote behind himself, sprawling even further on the couch, knowing that if he returned the device on the table, it would've been snatched quicker than he could even notice.

Harry’s reluctancy to acknowledge the movie that very conveniently was airing on one of the channels of his mother’s cable service, irritated Louis with every passing second. He knew damn well that the boy was aware which movie it was, his eyebrows furrowed above the screen of his mobile as soon as the three, completely random lines of dialogue fell off actors’ lips and Louis was surprised to see that the boy knew that particular edition of _Spiderman_ better than he would've ever expected. Tomlinson himself had favourite movies and was sure as hell that he wouldn't be able to recognize them with only audio of some insignificant part.

“Your boyfriend’s on the telly.” Impatient to wait for an organic reaction that he most likely wasn’t going to be given, he urged the boy to look at the moderately sized flatscreen, hanging off the wall of his mother’s living room that while posh, still felt homey and the last thing Louis would’ve called it was artificial, like he sometimes thought of the space in the singer’s house, at least the one in LA.

Still, Harry wasn't looking at the TV, but his eyes weren't on the phone anymore, jumping around various places around the room, so that was progress in Louis' book. He made himself look as dreamy as he could, pinching his cheeks to bring some colour onto them, added a flutter of his eyelashes to the mix and sighed deeply, eyes still stuck on the screen. "Would you just look at him? He's so delightful, isn't he?" His attempts at making himself sound like a teenager in heat were better than he could've expected them to be. He had his not-so-manly voice to thank for great conditions to execute that particular character.

He _knew_ that his portrayal of Harry’s daydreaming about Tobey Maguire wasn’t very accurate, but it was funny… at least to him, the brunette didn’t seem to be quite as amused. A few, disjointed mewls seeped through Louis’ nostrils, the first one bringing Harry’s attention to the man who continued taking the piss out of him and there was just a second that made Tomlinson think that maybe he should cut it out, seeing that Styles’ eyes got darker than he’s ever seen them.

Surely, the absolute fury the boy's face exuded was a huge overreaction for his stupid act, and while the focused gaze of those green eyes, almost completely covered with the black, was intimidating him to the point of almost giving up, he was also curious how far he could push the boy.

Was that the day he's going to get punched by Harry Styles? He was sure as hell overdue for a beating after mercilessly teasing the singer on numerous occasions. And even if the thought very unlikely, it still summoned very mixed feelings inside of him. While the story would've been one of the most exciting things that ever happened to him, he couldn't help but think about the bill from the dentist that he would have to pay after getting a fist from a man who, at all times, had his fingers embellished by jewellery that according to Lou's calculations, weighed roughly thirty-seven pounds in total.

A heavy object hit him just below his collarbone, immediately pulling him out of the borderline daydreaming of being hit by Harry Styles. He didn't realize that he was still cooing about Tobey Maguire's physique, doing a fairly good job, considering that he was straight-up lying. "Ouch." A stubborn expression swept the dreaminess right off as the man retrieved a piece of golden jewellery from between the wrinkled material of his t-shirt. It was surprising that he missed the moment the boy threw one of his rings, of course, the heaviest one, at him, but that was the case. "Oh wow, thank you so much what a great gift!" He didn't give up the teasing and pushed the object into the pocket of his shorts.

The speed in which Harry jumped from the worst case of irritated Louis has ever seen him in, to the most effortless state of unbothered was impressive, to say the least. The threat of losing his ring having absolutely no effect on him, both from the fact that this particular piece of jewellery had absolutely no meaning to him, bought purely for the aesthetical reasons, and even more than that, he was well aware that his friend was bluffing, rather slit his own throat than to take something from him, especially of quite this value.

Both him and Louis very vividly remembered the only money talk they've had the day after Harry had a chance to meet his friend's mother. He knew that there was no way either of Tomlinsons would ever accept any money from him, but then, upon meeting the woman, seeing the glint in her eye, he just _had to_ offer his help and money… well, that was the only way he thought he could be helpful.

As respectfully as he could, he asked Louis for a drink in his hotel room, and with a minimal amount of pussyfooting around the subject, he expressed his urge to help, at least ease their financial situation just a bit, fully aware that the struggles in that particular area were the source of the writer's grim mood for longer than he ever should worry about such issues, especially with a friend so eager to help.

 _Almost_ as respectfully, he was told to fuck off and mind his own business and even if the memory didn’t belong to the hall of fame of his favourite ones, he still found himself smiling at the way how absolutely northern Louis’ got while yelling at him and the way he looked storming out of the room, slamming the door before Harry could say a thing more than what he already said.

He spent a lot of time that night, dreading their next meeting, making up scenarios of how their relationship was going to suffer after that uncalled-for proposition. The singer was fully prepared for the worst, starting from the Tomlinsons not showing up to the breakfast they had scheduled, ending on Louis fully abandoning writing that godforsaken book that neither of them was any kind of excited for. And while the last scenario wasn't very believable after Louis numerous times said that if he could, he'd withdraw from the deal the day he met Harry, it still was somewhere in the back of his head when he waited with his mother for their companions to show up after they've entered the restaurant a bit early.

Thankfully enough, it turned out to be another one of those things that the two of them just collectively decided not to talk about. There was some of those things, difficult topics for the most part. The presence of their mothers couldn’t be any more convenient than it was at the moment, forcing the two to act as if nothing happened. Styles pretty sure that after how absolutely vexed he got, Louis wouldn’t be as willing to put their differences aside if it wasn’t for the women.

Acting as if the conversation never took place turned out to be a great way to actually forget about the issue and let it be forgotten in the archive of other things that they previously decided to not address, without ever speaking about doing that.

That was the only time he remembered Louis being truly mad at him and from what he could recall, he hated it, growing quite used to having the man by his side at all times. What he didn’t know that Tomlinson wasn’t very much different from him, half of the night after the fight they've had, spent thinking whether they’d have anything to come back to when the sun rises back again.

Louis groaned exhaustedly from the depths of his gut, pulling Harry out from his thoughts about their one, real fight that luckily hadn't resulted in any permanent damage other than the fact that the brunette knew better than to offer Lou money or argue with him when he insisted on splitting the bill on whatever they were doing together.

“You really have the worst taste in men.” The older man commented, his face pulling away from the movie, resting on Harry’s squinted eyes, every drop of that intimidating darkness disappeared as soon as it made itself known.

Harry didn’t know what to make out of that comment or how to even react to it really. Louis couldn’t have thought that his taste in men had persisted from where he was a lost, twelve-year-old boy, could he? There was also a thing that he didn’t really have so much of a _taste_ in people at all. Instead of creating some elaborate snarky comeback, he decided to take a different approach. “It’s really quite ironic that _you_ are the one calling him ugly.” His hands crossed on his chest, carefully watching the array of emotions chasing one after another off Lou’s face.

The last expression, the one that could’ve been named _baffled_ for the lack of a better word, stuck around as the man's mouth gaped just a bit in utter shock. Of course, he was fully aware that on the list of most handsome men on the Isles, he'd place somewhere in the latter half rather than the top one but then, he was still taken aback by Harry so explicitly calling him ugly. He'd lie if he told he didn't feel a sting on his confidence level that was already three feet underground. "What was that supposed to mean?" He tried to force a laugh into the question, trying not to sound nearly as insulted as he felt.

The brunette’s shoulders shrugged, just as if he hadn’t just destroyed every last trace of his friend’s confidence with a single sentence. “I don’t know.” The corner of his lips cocked up a bit. “You kind of look like him. Haven’t heard that before?” Louis’ head shook in denial, he couldn’t say that he had. What he didn’t know was whether he was happy with the observation or not. “Well, you do. How tall are you? He’s a short lad too, I believe.” The boy was on a roll, reintroducing body issues to the man who kind of let them go after beating himself up over things he couldn’t change.

"Excuse your mouth?!" The writer snapped at the boy who couldn't care less, already tapping away on his phone. "My height will stay between my physician and me, thank you very much." A bitter scoff perfectly summed up how he felt at the moment. "Or are you going to hire some detectives to steal my file or something?" A memory of being investigated brought itself back from the confinement of the archive, filling him with a whole mixture of emotions, most of which circling around uncomfortable.

Styles only nodded his head, more to himself than to his companion. He locked his phone and tossed it to the side. “He’s five eight-ish, that’s right around you, isn’t it?” The singer tried to prove his point. “Measuring you in your sleep would’ve been less of a hassle, really. Especially how plastered you tend to get when the footie’s on.”

“Enough!” Tomlinson protested, throwing his hands in the air to further accentuate his demand. “You’ve already insulted my entire appearance, you don’t have to call me a drunk as well.” Another bitter laugh emerged from his pipes, just an attempt to take away some of the load his words carried.

The dark eyebrows furrowed from across the living room, green eyes plastered to Tomlinson. “Insulted? Don’t think so.” The boy insisted. “I, myself, still believe he’s still quite…” His hands formed air quotation marks. “Delightful.” A smirk bent his lips halfway from the word he stretched for more than it would be appropriate, just to give it more punch. “Although I’ve heard that he’s quite a tosser, maybe you two have more in common than those ocean eyes and compact size.” Loud cackling broke out after the wink that Harry threw at his friend, clearly showing that he wasn’t exactly serious at the moment.

The laughter was not enough to stop Louis from throwing the ring back at Harry, the heavy accessory bumping just against the boy’s temple. The writer flattened a palm over his opened lips, eyes wide as coins when he pretended that it wasn’t exactly what he hoped for. Let’s just say that Harry deserved that after he teased him to the point of despairing his physique and even the fact that he redeemed himself with the compliment that summoned a slightest of blushes onto Louis’ cheeks, hasn’t helped him avoid the punishment.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry, with surprising ease, picked up two suitcases from the boot of the Uber they've taken from the airport when their long journey finally came to an end. The nightmare of travel experience was only so bad because of the fact that it never seemed to end, way longer than the writer had anticipated for it to be, but that was only his fault after he ignored that certain information on the ticket he glanced over without paying much attention at all.

His complaining was ridiculous, really. He wasn't sure when exactly he turned in a twat that whines about flying first class for a great adventure with one of the hottest names in the music industry, but hey, there he was.

The only explanation he had for this fussiness was how absolutely exhausted he was, not having a chance to rest for more than fifteen minutes, at best. Tired Louis and happy Louis were never present at the same time.

Mumbling some foreign words Tomlinson wouldn't have troubles believing were magic spells to the driver, Harry closed the door to the car, and soon enough, they were left on the curb in front of an inconspicuous house that was nestled in between other buildings, all very similar in appearance.

The leaves of a tree they were standing under rustled with the softest blow of the wind, their quiet sound very prominent in the complete tranquillity of the neighbourhood and even if that was a suburb, which tended to be considerably calmer, it was still too quiet for it not to seem like it didn't belong there.

During the journey from the airport, they hadn't come across any of the places when the majority of the population gathered and still, Louis found himself dreading the five weeks he was to spend in Japan.

Not being the biggest people person to exist on the planet, he thought that London was the peak when it came to the density of residents populating it. But from what he saw online, doing some research just before they've boarded the plane, he was in for a surprise and not the good kind, not at all.

Luckily, the neighbourhood in which Harry lived while in Japan looked like a pleasant surprise amongst the absolute chaos of places he had a chance to see from the window of their Uber. He wasn't going to keep his hopes up too much, it was heavily after ordinary people's bedtime when they've arrived at Harry's and the situation had a lot of time to change _but,_ knowing Styles and seeing that the late hour hasn’t discouraged residents of other districts from being out, he was hopeful for the place to be his little oasis in which he could shelter himself for the duration of their stay, going outside only when necessary.

The brunette to his side cleared his throat, successfully pulling him out of the place his mind wandered to and without doing as little as looking at Tomlinson, he started taking his ridiculously long strides to the house; two big suitcases following him since much to Lou’s appreciation, he decided to carry both of their bigger luggage, leaving the smaller ones for the man who felt like he, at least, stood a chance against the more compact of their suitcases where that might not have been the case with the bigger pair.

The first thing that hit him after the Everest of four steps he had to climb to reach the front door was the smell that he could've described as _clean_ , for the lack of a better word. Essentially, the air in the house smelled like it was heavily sprayed over with Mr Muscle, and the space hadn't had a chance to air out, which was both good and not really. For once, it was clear as the day that somebody had cleaned the place shortly before their arrival, on the other hand though, the potent scent of whatever it was that he was smelling, started burning the insides of his nostrils, nauseating the writer with every step he took further into the house, following his friend. 

It seemed not to be only him who started getting irritated by the smell of something resembling an artificial lemon, Harry quickly approaching the glass door leading to the backyard and opening them as far as they went, the delicate breeze doing a good job of supplying some air to take the strain off the breathing.

Louis wasn't thinking about much more than a burning ache in his quads that was there purely from Styles' idea that had him tag along to the gym, the morning of their departure. The concept of time zones was too complicated for him to work out at the moment, confusing the man whether it was yesterday or actually today. Well, nevermind. He was dragged to the gym, and that wouldn't be nearly as awful if, in his luck, he hadn't gone on leg day. His efforts to make the singer reschedule that particular day in his routine was futile, and even though he was slacking to the point of irritating his companion, he still felt the effects of the workout his body wasn't used to.

With the pain in mind, he threw himself on a couch as soon as he noticed it in his peripheral vision, a loud huff pushed out from his gut at the impact. In his usual fashion, he grunted in contentment when the weight of his body was taken off his poor, overworked legs. He took a gander around the room he was in, thinking that this was all the effort he was willing to make in terms of a tour, at least for the night.

Harry’s house in Japan was very unlike what he would’ve expected after seeing the LA residence and the London one that was more like a castle than anything else, the one that was all over the news quite recently and that’s how the writer found out about it. It looked strangely… _ordinary_ , definitely not how he envisioned it in his head.

The floors were nice, light hardwood which colour he couldn’t even compare to anything if he was to provide a visual with words only, with its flawlessness gave him an idea that it was laid quite recently and left unused for the most part. The walls were plain, with just minimal moulding around the edges, the most boring shade of green; the one that could only be described as olive, covered the entirety of the open-space downstairs with just only one exception, the bricked partition between the kitchen and the living room that at least, gave Louis something to look at from the endless pit of _boring._

He wasn't really sure where that comparison came from, but from what he was seeing, the interior looked like a student's space, if only the student was a middle-aged woman named Karen. All the room was lacking was a wooden sign with the most nauseatingly overdone word-formation to ever exist on this planet. He could imagine a plethora of places where the _Live Love Laugh_ sign could’ve been hung and considering the state of the house, that in comparison with Harry’s usual residence screamed unfinished, leaving a lot of room for interior design and who knew… maybe Harry Styles' interior designers were already on a hunt for the most preposterously pricy edition of this staple decoration, maybe in gold or stoned with diamonds. Knowing the boy as well as he managed to get to know him, Louis wasn't necessarily sure if he'd be surprised if he found out that he was hiding a _live love laugh_ mother essence somewhere deep inside of him. 

Unwillingly, a derisive scoff barked out of his mouth, a confused expression on his friend’s face everything he got in reaction. With absolutely no intention to admit that he might have been thinking how much of a live love laugh mother Harry actually was, he took one last glance around the living room, taking in the furniture that unlike the various, fascinating pieces in Harry’s LA house, were disappointingly pedestrian, IKEA on steroids.

The seat at the end of the couch dipped under the weight of Harry, who sat just there, his feet immediately searching for support on the edge of the coffee table. Louis' eyes darted to the bag the boy was holding in his left hand, fishing out orange slices of… something he couldn't really recognise with his vision clouded over with the exhaustion and let's just say that the fact that the packaging was covered in an unintelligible alphabet, there wasn't really too much chance for him to find out without asking.

His prediction proved to be false as soon as Harry caught his gaze. The brunette tilted the bag into his direction and offered him whatever the hell he was snacking on, not-so-patiently waiting for the actual food to be delivered, ordered in the Uber since there was not really much to provide sustenance in the cupboards of Harry’s Japan kitchen. “What even is that?” His nose scrunched in disgust that might have been a bit of an overreaction since he didn’t even know what he was looking at. Still, he felt like asking was a good way to go, a strategy he was going to continue over the duration of their stay.

Harry reached his slender finger and picked up a slice of the product, tossing it into his mouth. “Dried mango.” He announced with a shrug and yeah, it made sense to Louis. Either way, the writer shook his head since he’d rather starve than eat… that. Let’s just say he wasn’t the biggest dried fruit fan if it wasn’t a part of mince pie.

“First meal in Japan and you’re ordering burgers?” Louis’ eyebrow cocked up from above the spread between the two of them. Two, ridiculously big hamburgers unwrapped from the packaging, a mountain of chips sprawled on the small dining table they’ve decided to use, predicting their late dinner to be messy enough that ruining the couch posed a viable threat. He pinched one of the country-style chips and tossed it into his mouth, his empty stomach rumbling, demanding more after being teased with the piece of fried potato.

Styles seemed similarly starving, biting into the burger as soon as he managed to take ahold of it. He took his sweet time chewing through the bite, shrugging his shoulders when he was almost done with it. "I didn't know how you felt about Japanese cuisine." Three, short chips went on a ride down his oesophagus before he looked up again. "I'd ask you, but you dozed off."

A look of sheer shock welcomed Louis' face because he, sure as hell, did not remember falling asleep. "I did not." He argued, not taking the 'no talking with mouth full' rule nearly as seriously as Harry did.

There seemed to be something that the brunette was going to say, his mouth opening only for nothing to come out, slapping closed and parting a few seconds later, accepting another bite of the burger that while being far from the top of hall of fame of hamburgers either of them ever ate, was devoured with an eagerness very unlike Styles who always took care to fully chew through every bite before swallowing.

With the dinner finished, the remnants of sad-looking chips wilting with every passing second, the boys found themselves on the couch, their legs intertwined as their heads laid on opposite ends of the furniture that was simply not long enough to house their limbs and yeah, while Louis didn't have too much length in that department, Styles made up for where Louis lacked with his legs alone.

There was a cooking show going in the background, the first thing that popped up on Netflix upon opening the app, the programme non-committing to the point where neither was actually watching it. While Harry was busy with doing seemingly nothing, just throwing amused gazes at his friend who couldn’t bear looking at food and watched the ceiling with unusual interest, dreading his existence. It was a second after he got through the roast dinner at Harry's mother's house when he promised himself not to ever make the same mistake that he made then. Even with his lack of credibility, the time it took him to completely disregard this resolution was shorter than he ever expected it to be.

The culinary challenge that he subconsciously eavesdropped on brought back unanswered question from not that far ago. He sighed in pain, Harry's alarmed gaze confirming that he was, in fact, paying attention even if it did not look like he did. "I don't like sushi." He referenced the topic Styles already hasn't remembered talking about. He felt the jetlag sneaking up on him, the tiredness making his mind woozy as if he hadn't declined the drinks he was offered on the plane. He ended up having quite a few, sound naps throughout their journey, sleeping through the majority of their flight, much to Louis' disappointment since his sleeplessness in combination with Harry being the absolute opposite, left him with nothing to do for the longest time. The lack of anybody to bicker with made him so desperate for something to occupy himself with, he ended up watching the entire Shrek series for the millionth time in his lifetime.

With the slightest furrow to his brows, he remembered what his friend was talking about. "There are millions of other things to eat here that aren't sushi." He shook his head in amusement caused by his friend's tone when he declared his dislike for the most iconic of Japanese cuisine.

"I never had it actually." The man scratched an itch on his nose, feeling with his fingertips how absolutely disgustingly greasy his face had gotten throughout the ridiculously long day. "Really, fire and electricity were one of the biggest developments of mankind, it's really not that hard to _cook_ your food.” An appalled grimace deformed his face at the thought of even eating raw fish.

In all honesty, in his life, especially during the last few weeks he spent with Harry, he tried things that he always said he’d never eat, things like goat cheese, raw meat or caviar. His animosity towards raw fish was the one he thought even Harry, with his annoying persuasiveness couldn’t get through and even though he was certain that the singer was going to be a real pain in the ass, trying to force sushi into him like numerous foods before, Lou did not see him succeeding, not this time.

Harry's expression showed him to be in deep thought, seemingly similar to the process Louis was in, although the smug smirk on his face made it seem like he was far more confident in his ability to coax the writer to do whatever he wanted him to do.

And while, _yes,_ Louis was quite susceptible to Harry’s undeniable charm that sometimes made him do things he didn’t really felt like doing, stupid stuff like going to the gym or grocery shopping, he felt like this time, the brunette was not going to pull it off.

There was a long pause in their conversation and Harry was just about to step up and defend the honour of food Louis was bashing without ever trying it when he heard quiet snores, snuffled by a decorative pillow, against which the writer pressed his face upon dozing off.

Without even getting a chance of being shown to his bedroom for the next five weeks, the man was out like a candle, and while Styles thought that maybe it would be better to just wake him up for a second, so he could avoid the night on a couch that was everything _but_ suitable for something longer than a fifteen-minute power-nap, he decided not to do that, knowing how much of a struggle it sometimes was to fall asleep after such a time jump. The best he could do was to drape a fluffy blanket over Louis' body, close the wide-opened garden door and head upstairs, leaving his friend alone for the night.

-

Louis’ fingers clumsily fiddled with two chopsticks, tucked in between his digits with a grace of a four-year-old getting accustomed to the new way of eating for the first time in its life. “Thank God this is a booth.” He sighed when another portion of noodles slipped out of his klutzy grip. He would’ve never thought that having breakfast could be such a frustrating adventure. Starting from the whole debacle of picking out a dish that did not contain raw fish _or_ the sticky mess of fermented beans that might have been the single most disgusting article of food Louis had seen in his life; winking at him, a horrid visual from Harry’s plate filled with other nearly as disturbing developments of dubious culinary genius.

There were no words that could describe how thankful he was for Harry who sensed that it wasn’t a good moment to tease him and shut up, encouraging his endeavour at eating and sometimes even providing some insightful tips he remembered using throughout his own journey at learning how to use the unfamiliar set of utensils because regardless of how effortless his technique looked to be, nimble fingers twisting the sticks when he forgot that flexing his agility on Louis might not have been the best of his ideas, the ability was not the one he was born with either and he vividly remembered his fair share of struggles when handling the sticks for the first time.

What Harry didn't know and sure as hell wasn't going to find out now that Louis' attempts at handling the chopsticks proved to be even worse than he remembered, was the fact that it wasn't even the writer's first meeting with that particular set of utensils. He still remembered the humiliation of the first time he was introduced to chopsticks, unfortunately enough during the first date with a guy he fancied.

All of this brought back some very unpleasant memories of his teenaged self being teased mercilessly by a guy older than him. It was unnecessary to say that nothing else ever came out of that particular brief relationship, even though the guy had expressed interest that was shut down with a nice bouquet of insults.

“I want you to know…” The man started the sentence after he chewed through some thick noodles he managed to successfully place in his mouth after just a bit of uncoordinated fiddling, still an improvement in his book. “I have literally zero time for criticism right now.” He pushed out a sigh that pretty explicitly depicted his current state of mind.

Harry’s eyebrows pinched together from above his plate and let’s just say that Louis did not appreciate the way the singer had absolutely no problem with getting the desired food into his mouth without taking his eyes off the writer. “Why would I… wasn’t going to.” He shook his head, still not fully understanding what caused his friend to even think that he’d tease him when he could see that he was getting frustrated.

Of course, teasing Tomlinson was fun at times, one of Harry's favourite things to do when they weren't doing anything more than just hanging out in the confinement of their hotel rooms or the tour bus. To be fair, he was only reciprocating the mocking he was a victim of, far more frequently than where the situation was reversed. Even with that, he knew the right space and time for taking the piss out of his friend and now, that was most certainly not it.

The restaurant was busy around them, although it was not necessarily a surprise, considering that Harry started their first actual day in Japan from the late breakfast in a restaurant he discovered during the first time he travelled to Tokyo. It would be foolish to think that it was only him who appreciated the food at that, particular establishment. And while yes, he could’ve easily just taken Tomlinson to a random place, the abundance of which making it impossible for him to ever come close to eating at all of them, he figured that he had best chances at convincing Louis to be a little bit more adventurous in his culinary journey at restaurants he knew to be good, than leaving that to pure luck and possibly scarring the man’s palate with shitty food that was easier to come across than anybody would’ve thought.

The clinking of dinnerware around them was filtered with a dozen of conversations that were going on in the background, individuals dressed in professional attire, talking eagerly about something that with his _very_ limited Japanese, Harry couldn't dream of understanding but with that came an advantage of Japanese people not being very well versed in the English language, providing their conversation with this additional layer of privacy from where they were already quite secluded in the confinement of the booth he specifically requested.

Louis’ eyes lifted from being plastered to the bowl of soup he ordered, enticed with the promise of chicken that was the first, safe bet he stumbled upon while searching through the bilingual menu. “Good.” He drawled through his teeth, a small smirk creeping on his thin lips. “The last guy that did that almost got a knee to his bollocks.”

The threat in Lou’s voice had an opposite effect to the one the man anticipated, gaining him a reminder of Harry’s most obnoxious cackling. There was something about the combination of the threatening tone and the northern accent that got particularly thick upon the man getting annoyed, that never failed to make Harry laugh. Louis should’ve known by now that his efforts at being scary were only effective, as long as his objective was to make Styles laugh.

"Is there more to the story?" Genuine interest was audible in Harry's words. He propped his elbows on the table, his head supported with joined palms. He decided to stall a little for his friend's sake, seeing that the unfamiliarity with the utensils that were forced upon him gave him some troubles, making the man slower in getting through the breakfast than he usually was.

Louis pressed his lips in a thin line as he debated whether the story wasn't too embarrassing to share. It was, but he was a bearer of Styles' cringy secrets as well. On top of that, the conversation was going to give him some more time to get through the soup and let's be real, he needed any extra seconds he could get.

"Well…" A deep sigh kicked off the story he still felt hurt over despite it being around a decade from where it had transpired. "It's stupid and not a story at all I… I'm pretty sure it was somewhere around GCSEs, and I've met this guy at a club, and he asked me on a date, it turned out to be some Chinese restaurant, and obviously, I did not do as an impeccable of a job as I am going right now." Both of them scoffed at the same time, causing the sounds to mix. "So yeah, basically he made fun of me to the point where I've cried the second I got home, and I don't even know why I've told you that." He physically cringed after adding up to the tower of humiliation he went through during that particular date, the memories of which haunting him to this day. "I'm going to deny if you ever tell somebody so you better not try." A warning left his lips seemingly on its own.

Harry’s face became instantly inscrutable, his eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his friend. “There’s… _a lot_ to unpack here." The boy scratched a fictional itch on his nose, trying to find something to occupy his hands with. "First of all… what the hell were you doing in a club at fifteen?!" His voice reaching frequencies Louis wouldn't ever suspect it being able to reach. "Have you met that guy later? How old was he?" Outraged would be an understatement of Harry's current act, his face distorted in a grimace that gave away that he was somewhat suspecting of the answer.

"One, you're not my real mum, and you'll never be." He tried to use comedy as means to brush over the disappointment in Styles' eyes and even though the story was so long in the past, his current behaviour not nearly as reckless at the moment, he still felt like he was being scolded for punching a toddler. All he did was be a bit too promiscuous of a teen than it would’ve been appropriate, although saying that any amount of loose when talking about a kid his age was acceptable seemed pretty ridiculous in itself. “I don’t know… he must’ve been like your age?” There was really no way he could’ve known the answer to that question. There were different things on his mind before he got around to asking the age of a potential hook-up.

The look on the singer’s face clearly showed that the answer was worse than he anticipated and _yes,_ Louis was fully aware of how disturbing it was for that guy to even give his fifteen-year-old ass a sliver of attention, not even talking about going on dates with a fucking child. And while sometimes, he deliberately skipped over the fact that he was so young, or going as far as lying when the guy was significantly older, there was really no redemption to that particular bloke, he was fully aware of what he was getting into. That was the most regretful part of his life, the one he couldn't take back, no matter how much he wanted to fully forget the shameful time of his puberty, but that was not a viable option, all was left for him to do was to accept his past and not think about it too much since that wasn't doing any favours to his self-image.

A guttural grunt seeped through Harry's flared nostrils, low enough in both volume and pitch that it was concealed by the bustle of a restaurant during the lunch break. "God… Louis, noo." The whine he exhaled was a surprising contrast to the sound he produced previously. "What were you thinking about?" The upset tone of his voice brought Louis an amusing thought that this was the closest he was ever going to get to getting scolded by a father. And while the idea was absolutely nonsensical in itself, considering both the fact the brunette was the younger one of the two _and_ the lack of any blood-relation in between them, there wasn’t really any other situation he could recall that could compete with the bollocking he was getting during the rush hour in a busy restaurant from an international superstar and if those two things weren’t preposterous enough, the offence he was being told off for happened a decade ago.

Louis took a gander around the restaurant, assessing whether his answer to the question wasn’t going to be heard by somebody it shouldn’t reach. He tipped the bowl away from his lips; now that he managed to get rid of the noodles, he could’ve just drank the broth and that technique was far more comfortable, reminding him of the times he’d annoy his mother doing exactly that. This time though, the sipping hasn’t resulted in stains on his t-shirt, mum would’ve been proud of him.

Encouraged by the sour look on Harry’s face, eager to get rid of it as soon as it was possible, he swallowed the sip of the soup. “Dick, Harry. I was thinking about dick.” His eyes rolled to the wood-panelled ceiling as if it was the most obvious thing in a fifteen-year-old could think of. “Don’t act like you’re better than me! I bet you were just the same, bashing the bishop to your _Spiderman_ posters ten times a day." Instead of defending himself, he decided to full-on attack the brunette, accusing him of being similarly as deprived as he was at such a young age.

There was a moment of silence, Harry’s eyes round like saucers, mouth agape at the unforeseen allegation. “I most certainly have not!” His silhouette straightened in his seat, a fidgety palm wandering around the table, searching for one of the chopsticks that rolled somewhere from where he left it. Seeing that his efforts weren’t yielding any results and Louis was done with his soup, he snatched one of his, putting it to work right away, trying to hide the fiercest blush he felt in a long while, blossoming on his cheeks.

The deep crimson flourishing on Styles’ face upon being accused of doing something as common as having a wank at the age where the sexual frustration was around its peak, made Louis think that maybe he was mistaken with his claim. “Oh, you poor boy.” He shook his head, a taste for teasing returning after he was done with his meal, taking away the biggest matter he could've been teased on himself. "Have they told you Jesus would be mad at you when you put a hand in your drawers? Must've been glorious when you finally broke and had a wank at eighteen or something." With every passing second Louis sworn to himself that there was no way the singer could've gotten any redder than he already was, with every second proven wrong; the capillaries, shallow under the tanned skin seemed to never fill up with rushing blood, the blush spreading from the cheeks down the entirety of Harry's long neck, flooding his ears along the way. "Bet you've cried after your first wet dream." An airy chuckle concluded the borderline bullying, and even though he thought he might've gone a step too far, he was glad to see that there were things able to get such a reaction from Styles, who sometimes seemed like he wasn't even human.

Harry quickly finished the rest of his food, ordering the waiter to bring him a bill. He gulped his tepid green tea, and after paying for their breakfast, the two of them left the restaurant without saying as little as a single word.

After being sheltered in the confinement of a restaurant, falling back onto the busiest pavement, he ever had a chance to step on was a huge shock for Louis. It was that feeling when you're keeping your eyes on the back of your mum's head in order to not get lost in a mall, but now it was Harry Styles instead of his mother and the entire city of Tokyo, Louis knew he would be a goner if he got lost in.

There was still the promise of doing some great, touristy things hanging in the air, Harry very much excited about sharing his favourite spots with a friend who reacted to everything with such child-like interest, mixed with something in the shape of visual nausea from overstimulation of his poor eyes.

Louis was very much thankful when they've finally stepped out of the most densely crowded area, the path slowly melting into a paved walkway of a park that for his standards, was still a clusterfuck of people but still a huge relief from the nightmare they went through to get there, the writer on the brink of getting lost at least thirty seven thousand times during the short walk.

“Fifteen.” Harry murmured as they were taking steps along the path, passing people that looked like they couldn’t give less fucks about either of them and for the first time in his lifetime, Louis felt the same amount of insignificant as Harry Styles, whose strides were deliberately shortened, trying to match the length of his steps with his friend’s.

A single look back on Styles’ face quickly gave away what he was on about, the face that managed to fade back into its usual golden tone blushing again, much softer than the performance the blood vessels gave just a few minutes before.

And if Tomlinson thought that fifteen was unusually late to start one's sexual exploration of their own body, that was going to stay unsaid. It's not like his journey was the most ordinary one it could've been, and from between the two of them, he was the one with more fucked-up past. "I'm sorry." His subconsciousness decided that it was the time to apologise, fair enough. "That was a low blow." He kicked a pebble he stumbled upon, the object bouncing just a bit before swerving onto Harry's side.

Discouraged, fully ready to part with a little friend he made a second before, he plastered his gaze to the path, anticipating the parting as soon as they've passed the stone. Much to his surprise, Harry seemed to take note of his friend’s irrational attachment to an element of nature and kicked it further, the tilt of his foot angling the pebble in just the right way for it to go back onto writer’s path.

Just when he was about to kick the small rock again, his eyes drifted to a piece paper that in its absolute foreignness, looked oddly familiar.

When he decided to risk it and leaned to pick it up from where it was lying crumpled on the side of the pavement, he gasped in excitement when realisation caught up to him that it was, in fact, a banknote. A squeal broke out from around his parted lips, bringing the attention of the boy next to him to his fingers that were currently busy smoothing the wrinkled note.

He wasn’t even halfway done with the rejuvenation of the piece of paper he just found on the ground, when Styles trailed off the beaten path and considering how absolutely clueless he was about his surroundings, Louis knew better than to disobey him.

It seemed like the singer was far more accustomed to that particular park. After all, there was a substantial amount of time a person had to spend there to get the ins and outs of the space to the point of knowing all the best spots, like the little patch of green grass, hidden from the rest of the park by the long branches of a weeping willow that, judging solely from its size, must've been planted around the time the dinosaurs were wiped out.

They ended up sitting on the green grass, Louis fully accepting the fate of his sweatpants that were bound to be covered with green stains so fierce that even his mother would be helpless against. It didn’t matter though, he was willing to make sacrifices in order to have a breather from the bustle of the city that was slowly hand-crafting the migraine he was destined to have upon returning to Harry’s.

Having done the best he could’ve at smoothing the banknote he found on the ground, Louis studied it with a curiosity of a kid that once, at five years old had a little hobby of collecting currency and if that whole thing sourced from his observation that under the excuse of his interest, he was able to extort more money from people around him, well… that was only a problem of the people that haven’t caught onto him sooner, letting a literal child exploit them with the most innocent smile on his face.

Being oblivious to the exchange rates, he looked down on Harry who hopefully was well versed in that, although he might have been a bit delusional, thinking that the boy was worried about his spending enough to busy himself with doing math with every purchase. “Are we rich? A thousand has to be _something,_ right?" He found himself asking before he realised how absolutely absurd the phrasing made him sound. Of fucking course, Harry was rich, even that was an insulting understatement.

Styles' silhouette repositioned where he reclined, supporting the top of his body on his elbows, a brief furrow in his eyebrow spilling the secret that he did, in fact, know how to do the conversion. "You've got around seven quid in here, rich… depends on how you look at it. I'd say that yeah, you're loaded." The boy laughed, closing his eyes to shield the delicate retinas from the sunlight that snuck around the branches, blinding him where he was relaxing, enjoying the light breeze shuffling through his hair.

“So…” Louis gave his friend an inquisitive look. “What are you gonna do with your three-fifty?” Harry’s eyebrows pinched together, his expression screaming confusion. “We’re splitting it.” The writer explained as if it was the most obvious thing to do.

There was this amused glint in the green of brunette’s eyes before he cocked his eyebrow. “Says who?”

“There had been an official decree issued that says that when one stumbles upon any amount of money while spending time with the group, they are required to split the money equally amongst every member of the party.” The man declared with utmost confidence, knowing that there was no truth to words he just spoke.

“Yeah? And who it was that issued that law? Must’ve missed it.” The cheer note that wove itself in between the usual rasp made Louis think that he might’ve lost this battle.

“Louis Tomlinson, summer of 1996.” He deadpanned, trying to sound as serious as he could bring himself to.

“1996? No wonder I don’t remember. All I did was smear boogers onto every flat surface I came across back then.” Styles snorted the answer. “Can I ask for a backstory?”

With a deep sigh, Louis prepared himself to tell a tale he remembered quite vividly, and if he hadn't, any of his family members were more than willing to remind him of it every chance they got. "Basically, me and my mate were having fun on the playground, the fun ended the moment when he stumbled upon a ten quid bill and me, being the little shit I was, convinced him that it was a universally enforced rule that the money had to be split between us with beheading being a penalty of ever disobeying the Queen's order." He managed to make himself laugh with the memory of the stuff kid Louis used to pull off, say what you want, but he was on the ball from as soon as he started talking.

“Jesus Christ.” Styles shook his head, a wide grin on his face shining through the look of disappointment he tried to force on himself.

“And you can be sure as hell that I did not share the money with him the next time when it was me who found it.” Tomlinson slapped his thigh, airy giggles engulfing both of them in glorious serenity. “Poor chap though they gonna chop me ‘ead off!”

The singer’s whole silhouette shook violently, amused with both the story and the accent that made itself known in the heat of the moment. “Good to know I’m not the first man you’ve traumatised.” The green of his eyes disappeared under his eyelids when he rose his gaze to the sky. “Has he ever talked to you again? I bet he was terrified.”

"You're joking? That's the twat that got me so pissed when I was home!" The reminder of his childhood best friend summoned a sweet smile onto his lips. "I'm saying ice cream, you're up for it?" He transformed the conversation into a discussion of the purpose of their shared bill. Although there was not much of a debate at all, Harry quickly nodding his head in agreement.

They were relaxing on the grass for a while, their bodies shielded from the scorching sun by the tree that provided them with a great hiding place as well.

"What's up?" Louis asked when Harry continued to rub his balled fist on his lidded eyeball, his irritated eye begging for relief.

There didn’t seem to be any response coming, the boy rubbing his eye, disturbing it even further, tears running down the one side of his face. “Got something in my eye.” The singer found himself mumbling, going back to the task.

Without asking for permission, Louis reached for the tote Harry was carrying around the city since they've left his residence and fished out a bottle of hand sanitiser, rubbing a generous amount onto his seemingly clean hands that must’ve been riddled with bacteria after he just touched every atom the found banknote consisted of.

Fluttering his hands in the air, prompting the alcohol to evaporate from his skin, he looked at Harry’s futile efforts at getting rid of whatever it was that got stuck in his eye. Taking some extra time, cautious not to make the matters any worse, the writer knelt in front of his friend, pushing down Styles’ hands that weren’t doing him any favours.

After years of wearing contacts, the pain of which ended as soon as he got the first check from the publishing company and went straight to get himself a Lasik procedure, he couldn't be any less bothered about touching an eyeball. He vividly remembered the times when he had to shove what it felt like an entire hand, elbow deep into his eye socket to retrieve an unruly contact that wandered to the back of his eye and after that encounter… he started laughing at people squeamish about touching their eyeballs.

“Stay still, I’m gonna poke your eye out!” He urged stillness on his friend who looked up at the writer, stilling his body to the best of his abilities. Having a set of eyes to actually see what the hell was going on, made fishing out of the stray eyelash that landed where it shouldn’t have, ended up being a matter of seconds, the dark hair resting on the tip of Lou’s fingers in no time.

They’ve stayed like that for a bit more than it was necessary, Harry taking his eyes off Louis only when prompted with a nod to blow away the eyelash that caused him so much trouble, the deal of making a wish too obvious to even remind the boy of.

As soon as the lash was lifted by the air, Styles' eyes were back on Louis', and the intensity of his gaze was stronger than he ever felt it on himself. It was also the most ambiguous situation any of them let happen in public setting ever since they've met and the little devil on Tomlinson's shoulder, whispered him that if the deceiving privacy of the shelter they took under the tree was a real one, the two of them would've ended up kissing.

Without any reliable cover in sight, Louis came back to where he was sitting, an unfamiliar pull in the pit of his stomach, giving him an idea that maybe he wanted _something_ to happen. And even if he hadn’t even thought about kissing the boy previously, he sure as hell was thinking about it now. 

Louis sighed in disappointment when they've walked away from the little ice cream shop that surprised them with the number of flavours it managed to offer in comparison with the compact size of the place. The enormous selection to choose from was the sole reason for the man's frustration. First of all, restricting himself to only two scoops when the majority of flavours were basically calling his name was one of the hardest parts of the whole debacle, the other part was the fact that Harry opted for two scoops of plain vanilla and Louis could practically still hear his scoff when Styles declared the words that further broke his heart 'no sprinkles', was the last nail to Lou's coffin.

The pained noise the writer had pushed out of his gut brought Harry’s attention to his friend, who gave him the fiercest side-eye, silently judging the hell out of him for going for the most boring option available at the store, pretty much wasting his part of the thousand yen they’ve found. “What?” They came to a halt, instigated by the taller man who seemed to have done it deliberately.

The writer was just the tiniest bit reluctant to calling the boy out on such an insignificant matter after he teased him so mercilessly during their breakfast, but then, it's not like he had anything in a shape of conscience, so he went for the punch. “From all of your bold styling choices, I’d never think that you’re nearly as boring as you’ve turned out to be.” He huffed a breath from above his cone that was melting faster than he could lap his tongue around it to catch the drippings. 

There was nothing in Harry’s face showing that he felt insulted and with as transparent as the guy has gotten lately, it must’ve only meant that he did not take the words personally. Although, knowing the brunette as well as he did, Tomlinson wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had taken it as a compliment in his endless efforts to be as ordinary as it got.

A smile bent his lips, just the slightest speckle of white still present on his top lip, before he licked it off. He looked around them, gazing at people that were rushing to get home from work as another edition of the rush hour started. They were standing out like a sore thumb in between all of the locals, uncommonly relaxed amongst the busy crowd, leisurely devouring their cones, glancing at the vending machines, lining the walkway to something that from what Louis could see through the glass could've only been a music store.

Tomlinson’s eyes jumped from one machine to another, assaulted with bright lights and oversaturated colour of their fronts, his gaze lingering on the most unusual of the selection. “Interested in some vending machine porn? Or maybe a pair of panties from an Asian schoolgirl? Knock yourself out, I won’t judge.” Harry nudged the man with his elbow after he found where it was that those blue eyes stayed for more than the usual three seconds.

Desensitised by his own performance of making the brunette uncomfortable by trying to delve deep into his sex life, he only shrugged, surprised that he wasn't feeling any of the blush that would usually find its way onto his face. "The porn is not nearly as enjoyable when your boss isn't paying for it… And the thought of some woman creaming herself in the drawers…" A displeased grimace twisted his face. "I think the sole concept is enough to turn me gay… again."

“I can pay for the porn if that helps you enjoy it more.” Harry chuckled after he concluded Louis’ rant with a simple nod.

"You're not my boss, though."

A crease surfaced in between Styles' eyebrow as he eyed his friend with a pensive look on his face. "Am I not?" There was a flicker of something that could've been interpreted as disappointment, and that's exactly how Louis had read it. "Not even a little bit?" There was a hopeful twinkle in his eye that died down the second writer's head shook.

"No way, Styles." The decided tone sounded comical from where the words fell out of lips smeared with ice cream that was mysterious _Peppa Pig_ flavour and even if the decision-maker tried to pass it off as a legitimate choice, making excuses to stop his friend from laughing, it was really more his curiosity than anything else that made him opt for the flavours devoid of description other than a picture of a cartoon character that was apparently enough of an explanation of a flavour profile. "You have no power over me." He stated the obvious, if Harry had, in fact, any actual authority over him, he'd never do most of the things they were doing so frequently when hanging out together. If he was going, to be honest, he'd probably hate the boy if he was even trying to dominate him in the way Jeff sometimes did, especially before he got the memo that Louis was not the one to fuck with, not scared to send him a nice cluster of verbal abuse, knowing that he's somewhat immune with how close to Harry he managed to get.

So, yeah… that man, with his lips painted pink and blue since the _Peppa Pig_ flavour that ended up being a strawberry with some extra steps, mixed with the _Smurfs_ kind (apparently the Japanese did not get the memo that western kids stopped caring about those little fuckers around twenty years ago), that tasted like nothing he could ever recall; that man really hated authority and he was not the one to let people of supposed power stomp over him, his absolute ruthlessness visible at first glance.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a part two to the previous chapter, the continuation of events of Louis' and Harry's day in Tokyo. I've decided to split it because 20k chapters aren't exactly my kind of thing.  
>  Enjoy :)

“No worries, here you go.” Louis passed a phone to a girl who asked him to take a picture of her and Harry, at last parting with the preposterous case the device was clothed in, all the fur and fake rhinestones one could imagine. Though he wasn’t really keen on being deemed Styles’ personal photographer, he was not the one to shut those poor girls down when once in a while a lone fangirl scrambled enough courage to approach them, especially that in Japan, number of those fans significantly decreased from the standard in other parts of the world they've travelled together, so he wasn’t asked for that favour quite as frequently.

The short girl went on her merry way and disappeared in a matter of seconds, mixed with other people that crowded the path ahead of them. Harry only smiled apologetically, in the same matter he always used to when they were approached by his fans and Louis didn't really see the reason why the boy would ever have to apologize, but then, he appreciated the thoughtfulness.

"Do you ever get starstruck?" Tomlinson found himself asking out of sheer curiosity, chewing on the last bite of some sweet, rice-y concoction that Harry swore was good before forcing him to eat it. He wasn't lying this time, the treat good enough that the man finished it, even though the seams of his stomach threatened to bust. Maybe the things he ate throughout the evening were more of snack kind of food, but they've added up, and after a dozen, Louis was pretty sure he was going to have to be rolled back to his accommodation. "You've cried when meeting the Kardashians?" He nudged Harry's side with his elbow as they continued their walk; a plethora of smells, from the sweetest, most tempting, to those that almost activated his gag reflex, hovered above the night market with the most bizarre and unique aura, something unlike anything he has ever seen.

If he was looking at his companion instead of carefully watching his step, scared to stomp over a toddler or whatever, he'd be able to see the twitch in his expression, distorting his statuesque features in a grotesque grimace, the remnants of which Tomlinson had a chance to catch in his peripheral vision, quickly reminding himself that Harry had a not-so-brief affiliation with the evil clan that in Lou's opinion was a personification of everything that was wrong with America.

He was going to apologize for his forgetfulness, not being aware that he’s bringing back a period that from Harry’s reaction, must’ve been everything but pleasant, but upon seeing the boy's expression smoothing, he decided to let it go. "Who is the most famous person you have in your phone book?" His hand reached for the tote that, for some reason, ended up on his shoulder, he retrieved a wet wipe and thoroughly cleaned his sticky fingers. "No, not most famous. That's boring." He shook his head, the lights surrounding them stretched into colourful streaks. “Your favourite person that’s not your mother.”

The little curve of Styles' lips was visible in the corner of Louis' eye, giving away that he was, in fact, going to say that it's his mum. "Gemma." He found a loophole and exploited it, earning himself an irritated scoff.

Tomlinson looked with his mouth agape at the man who seemed to be yelling at the two of them from behind the bar, slowly approaching in a little waddle that only made him think of penguins. Needless to say, that no matter how much attention he tried to give the man whom he deemed the owner or, at least, the manager, his words were still the same amount of foreign. From the way the chubby owner was gesticulating his hands, throwing them in the air as high as he managed, he could only assume that whatever it was, it was intense and the man was not happy with them.

Well… to be fair, they kind of deserved a little bashing after Harry, in his alcohol-induced clumsiness, piled with the normal one that accompanied him in day-to-day life, ended up knocking a second glass from their table, the shattered glass speckling what it seemed like every place on the tiled floor. The brunette _tried_ to ease the man's anger, mumbling something that neither of them could've known made no sense at all, Harry's Japanese suffering greatly from the drinks he downed throughout the course of the night.

It seemed like the second glass was the last straw, and after an hour of causing disruption with their inconsiderately loud chatter and booming laughter, they were pretty much kicked out of the bar they've wandered into after they decided that they were done for the night and left Harry's friend's club, agreeing that they were both more in a chatting kind of mood; blaring music and blinding strobe lights were everything but suitable for that. Apparently, they weren’t nearly as done as they thought they were, swerving into a random establishment for one drink more that turned into five more without neither really agreeing on that.

They were walking in silence that wasn't really silent at all, neither of them conscious enough to even think about ordering a ride. Louis couldn't help himself but compare the 'true Japan experience' he was promised with the nights out in London, and apart from being actually able to understand when he was being kicked out of the bar (let’s just say that it wasn’t exactly his first time), there was not really too many differences in between the two.

First of all, he was way too fucking old for that, with every step, the thought of getting home was progressively less and less tempting. His legs were hurting in the places he never felt them hurt, he was not sure about that calculation, but it felt like they've crisscrossed the entire city of Tokyo on their feet and even if he knew the claim was far from the truth, he was still going to boast about doing exactly that when it comes down to telling the story.

Out of nowhere, Harry’s booming laughter resounded in the light air around them as the man stood alarmingly close to the edge of the pavement, trying to catch them a cab. Not thinking about the appropriacy of the gesture, he clutched the brunette’s arm, steading his wobbly silhouette, more than likely saving him from the premature demise.

Arguing over which one was more smashed than the other would’ve been pointless, both in the state of intoxicated that left them still somewhat cautious, yet incredibly silly, that stage responsible for Styles’ cackling that hadn’t died down even when they finally got settled on the backseat of a taxi. Thankfully enough, Harry was able to access enough of his supply of serious, to give the driver the address Louis simply didn't know, even though if he was smart, he'd write it down somewhere in case he ever gets lost, that particular scenario not that ridiculous, considering how absolutely overwhelming the city got and the lack of his field orientation.

The giggles only ceased when Styles, with a disapproving look on his face, leaned towards Louis, his face so close he could taste the boozy vapour so similar to his own, the closeness making Tomlinson’s thoughts wander a bit, the next thing he remembered, he had a seatbelt across his chest, carefully buckled up by a boy who seemingly brainlessly drunk, still thoughtful enough to take care of his friend.

"You've ever had sake?" The host asked as soon as they've crossed the threshold of his residence, taking long leaps towards his alcohol stash and without waiting for an answer, he retrieved an unspectacular bottle, so unlike the vessels, their usual booze was confined in, and two, ornate ceramic cups that he set on the coffee table and filled with transparent liquid, nodding at his friend, encouraging him to try.

No, Louis hadn't had a chance to taste sake before, never really an owner of a palate sophisticated enough to fully appreciate the wine section of the alcohol industry. He considered it a blessing though, the contentment with as little as three quid pint from some dingy bar was quite convenient with his financial instability. Carefully, he brought the ceramic cup to his lips and took a confident swig of the wine, his face scrunching violently in regret as soon as the dry taste spilt all over his tongue.

He couldn’t believe how Harry could just drink it without even flinching, apparently that particular beverage was an acquired taste. The writer was certain that if the times were desperate enough, he could find himself changing his mind but as of now, with a satisfying variety of alcohol stashed at Harry’s, he doubted he’d be reaching for that bottle ever again.

"My friend makes this one, he puts aside a bottle whenever he knows I'd be dropping by." The boy explained the bottle that did not have any sort of markings on it, as plain as it got and while he probably shouldn't even drink any alcohol that came in packaging like that one, he trusted that his friend wouldn't give him anything dodgy.

With a second attempt at taking a sip, his face deformed even more than before, making the man give up on that drink. He was at peace with his adventure in drinking ending right then, his mind already woozy from the intoxication he had nobody but himself to thank for. "Not for me." He declared. His comment met with a shrug of a brunette who reached for Lou’s unfinished cup and downed it without hesitation.

Louis was eyeing his friend from the couch, watching Harry’s back as he rinsed the cups they’ve managed to dirty, his drunken cleanliness causing the older man to scoff. Without doing as little as giving him a look, Harry approached the couch and sat next to his friend, their bodies leaning against each other, searching for support that miraculously enough, both found in one another. 

Styles twisted his body in a way that let his eyes rest on the writer’s face, an intense gaze resting on Tomlinson’s profile. He brought his knee to his chest, folded leg the only obstacle in between the two. 

None of them spoke for a while, just sat there in silence that felt so foreign in comparison with the day they’ve spent engulfed in the bustle of the city. The green gaze was still stuck to Louis’ side, the smirk widening to a full-on grin on a face of a boy who hunched his back in order to hide the smile from his friend behind the cap of his knee. 

He would’ve lied if he told that Harry’s staring didn’t make him uncomfortable, even if just a little. Everybody would get slightly alarmed with somebody’s eyes stuck on them for this long, adding up to that, was the fact that after the eventful day, he knew he looked far from pristine with his face covered in sebum, hair tangled by the wind and the lack of willpower to keep his eyes opened… yeah, he was the furthest away from his best he possibly could’ve been.

The lack of clarity in regards to Harry’s persistent staring finally stopped being acceptable, subconsciously pushing his head towards the boy, ready to confront him. He expected _something,_ a reaction out of the brunette but there was nothing like that happening, Styles only started giggling silently, filling Louis with a new dose of confusion and honestly, even worry. “What are you doing?” He scoffed at the singer whose laughter started fizzling out, his head tilted with a question in his stance.

'Sorry, WHAT?!' Louis found himself thinking, reacting to the puzzled look painted on brunette's face. Not only the boy had the _audacity_ to blatantly stare at him like a goddamned creep, but he was also acting oblivious when confronted about it? This guy, honestly…

Harry heard the huff of air that was pushed out of his friend's lungs in exasperation, and this only got the smirk back on his face. "Nothing." His shoulders shrugged flippantly, hands wrapped around his knee, head propped onto the construction he built with his limbs.

There was nothing else he could do but roll his eyes with the most drama he could manage to fit into that reaction. “Cool.” Lou sneered out an answer and straightened his head, going back to staring into that one, not particularly interesting spot he was looking at before he got interrupted. 

His friend wasn’t going to give up quite this easily. More playful than Louis ever remembered him being, the boy started nudging the writer’s arm with his fingers, trying to force the man to give him some attention. It didn’t take too long for him to succeed, Louis’ eyes back on him in no time. “What?!” He snapped at the boy, the amused note in Lou’s voice telling that he wasn’t exactly as irritated as he posed to be.

And Harry… did nothing, really. He just continued staring at him, his fingers dragging shapes on Lou's arm. "Thank you." The singer finally spoke, and even though it was _something_ , it was not really anything at all, just as mysterious as his previous fits. Louis didn’t answer to that because there was nothing in his head at the moment, way too busy with the pleasant tickling on his skin. “I…” The rasp broke the silence once again, only to die down immediately. There was this absent look on his face that made Louis doubt that he was even aware that he was dragging his fingers in those silly, indistinguishable shapes. “I had a lot of fun today…” His gaze finally left the older man’s face, coyly avoiding the blue staring back at him. “Thank you, thank you so much.” The words left his lips in a hurry, muffled by the skin of his knee as he pressed his lips to it. 

Despite being in the midst of his tipsy state, there was no doubt that Harry’s words were sincere and the heavy load they’ve carried, even with the simplicity of the confession, showed him that it must’ve been a while since the boy had a day this good. 

The whole thing sounded ridiculous, really. Imagine having this much money, influence, no serious concerns whatsoever, and not being able to enjoy it. Struggling as much as he was, Tomlinson never really thought about what he would do if the tables had turned and he acquired some substantial amount of money, not anymore at least. In the past though, he remembered having so many plans for the money he planned on making in the future, even then his game plan starting with paying off his mum's debts because, _yes,_ their relationship maybe wasn’t as splendid as it was nowadays and he had done some seriously fucked up shit in the past, but he was still responsible enough to think about financially stabilizing himself and his mother before blowing off the rest for the party monster lifestyle he planned at the time.

The ideas had obviously not panned out the way he planned for them to, and now that he had an insight on how it is to be broke, after the financial situation got significantly more complicated and the royalties checks were barely enough to provide for the two of them, he was even more surprised when Harry’s life turned out to be just as boring as his, with some extra steps along the way, instead of the extravagant lifestyle he was expecting after seeing the portrayal of the boy in the media.

Harry's sudden confoundedness pulled a smile out of Louis, and even though he knew that right at this moment, he looked ridiculous, he couldn't bring himself to stop. "I think it wouldn't be as fun if you weren't there." Admitting that wasn't exactly easy to him, those words… all of this, was just awfully mushy and it never really came effortlessly for him to access that sappy side, hidden deep under the skin thickened by years and years of tending to that tough-guy persona. "It might have been fun at first but the thought of my cadaver lying in some ditch because I got lost in a matter of seconds… not that appealing, not at all." An attempt at taking some of the weight off his words with a joke succeeded, at least enough for Harry's lips to bend slightly. "You were supposed to take me to the arcade, though." An accusation shot at Styles who, despite his promises, did not take his friend to only one place the man was actually looking forward to visiting.

"There's plenty of time to get to the arcade." The singer sighed. "And I have a feeling that I will have troubles getting you out of there once you get the taste of it." THAT… was not a lie, not at all. While being close to his thirties, Tomlinson was still an avid fan of video games, maybe even more so than he was in his teens. No, surely more than then, having more time to fill now that he wasn’t constantly running around in search of a hook-up. “Let me enjoy you for a bit more, okay?” The boy straightened the leg that managed to fall asleep from the strain put on it in the previous position. 

Louis wasn’t that keen on letting go of the eye contact, this realization surprising even him when he already managed to turn to his friend, his legs crossed in between the two. “As if you aren’t already sick of me.” He scoffed, knowing that Harry might have been a little more patient than he was, but what he was as well, was teased far more frequently than the other guy. There was no person that wouldn’t lose their cool from time to time. “You’re so weird, Styles.” The observation came out of nowhere… Well, not exactly. It was quite often that he thought how much of a surprise this Harry Styles persona turned out to be, a pleasant surprise, that’s for sure. “Nothing like what I’ve predicted you to be.” These words hung heavy between the two of them, swerving the conversation to more serious lane, just like the ones they used to have before their relationship transformed into insignificant banter and endless bickering. 

And while in normal circumstances, he probably wouldn’t say that, especially without being pushed by similarly hefty confession, he kind of felt like Harry needed that, no matter how ridiculous this claim came off as. 

"Yeah? What are you, some kind of witch?" The writer was happy to see the boy keeping this chat from fully snowballing into something bigger than it already was, some strange nostalgia hidden behind those green eyes that besides being just straight-up happy, corners pinched by the apples of his cheeks, seemed to conceal something way more elaborate than that. A gentle nod of Louis' head confirmed that he was, in fact, a witch, prompted the boy to break the silence again. “If you’re such a clairvoyant, maybe… maybe you’ll tell me what it is that is going to happen right now?” 

Harry's attempt at seeming alluring was nowhere near as smooth as he probably thought it was, but in his tipsy state, Tomlinson didn't really seem to care about that. It was not a mystery that he got clingy when intoxicated, never taking a lot of coercing to conquer him in such a mood and Styles… something in that boy made him so absurdly attractive that he never really stood a chance against his charm, not that he would ever think about denying him anything he asked for.

Even the clumsy attempts at being enticing had Louis fully sold on the idea of a kiss… anything, really, whatever it was that was coming for him. And even if he tried to blame his pathetic eagerness on the alcohol which he did not exactly keep off of that night, deep inside, he knew that this was coming from the moment he retrieved that stupid lash from brunette’s eye and he would be lying if he said that he was not looking forward to the encounter. 

Encouraged by the not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, he decided to bounce the ball back at Harry and see what might happen next. "I think you're going to kiss me again." For the first time, any of them acknowledged the previous kisses, and it felt so strange that he felt his cheeks burning, red patches already on their way to embarrass the writer. In last, desperate attempt at pushing the blush, he sighed as if it had any chance against the years of practice Louis’ cheeks had at flushing in the least suitable moment. 

A smile on Harry's face explicitly showed that he was satisfied with the answer he got, but he did not kiss the man opposite of him, it didn't look like he was about to either and while Tomlinson couldn't deny that he wanted that to happen, he refused to be the one to instigate the kiss, leaving that part to be taken by his companion. "And what will happen then? Anything I should keep in mind before I go for it?" 

Honestly, Louis was done with the teasing, his lips tingling in anticipation that was childish to the point where he was embarrassed by it. See, there was no point in denying that he was _maybe,_ just a tiny bit horny and that was not anything unusual because with the sparseness of the time he could find a minute alone, he didn’t really have a lot of time for himself in the last few days… however one might like to understand those words. 

And yes, he was fully aware how absolutely pitiful he was at the moment, so desperate for something as innocent as a kiss but hey, that was how the cookie crumbled that night. "All I see are consequences, terrible ones at that." He shook his head, a smirk creeping onto his lips when he noticed the boy opposite of him getting closer, dragging the moment to unbearable lengths.

There were mere inches separating their lips, nimble fingers slowly creeping up to where Louis’ hands were resting in his lap. Harry stared at him with his eyes partially closed, heavy eyelids speaking volumes about how tired he was and honestly, Louis felt like he was twice as exhausted as Harry was, it only made sense to him since the boy was so much more physically able than he was. 

Even though the writer was getting impatient, his companion’s soft breaths teasing his lips to part, he refused to take the initiative and push the moment further. He just stared back, letting Harry embrace his palm that was comically small in comparison with brunette’s. He’d feel stupid, self-conscious with his dainty physique if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry, with his abnormally large hands, was just as oddly built as he was. 

It seemed to have taken forever till Styles’ lips finally parted, the green of his eyes bright and eager, very much present even behind the initial haziness. “Consequences… ‘orrible consequences." Louis almost slapped him for how unapologetically he mocked his accent, miserably if he was the judge of that. "Am I mad, or are you making them sound kind of exciting?" Straight teeth peeked from under his upper lip in a smile and the next thing he knew, were those teeth clashing with his until they've found their rhythm

Harry's lips felt nothing like they've felt before, and Louis thought he remembered them vividly despite the time that had passed since he felt them. It was so unlike any of those kisses they've shared before, and even though there were only two of them, he recalled them vividly enough to know that Harry's lips seemed firmer on his, impatient and very much controlling. He never was the one to let anybody dominate him like that, but somehow, it felt right at the moment.

He pulled away from the kiss to catch a breath that he lost somewhere in Harry’s mouth, pressing himself back to the boy in the shortest amount of time he could manage. He could feel that dry taste of sake, still lingering on his friend’s tongue and now, that it was served in such a way… he could see himself getting used to it, maybe even growing to like it. The second he started to think about their custom blend, he began worrying about his own taste, rethinking all of his choices regarding food and libation. 

All of the concerns evaporated the second he felt a large hand crossing his thigh, finally resting on the small of his back, pulling him closer. He was never the one to deny the boy, and that was not going to change right now. With some awkward fumbling of his crossed limbs, he managed to get his legs on both sides of Harry's lap, straddling him without breaking the kiss for as little as a second.

This is exactly what he was looking forward to, not really aware that this was the case. He pressed his petite hands on either side of Styles’ neck, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze as he found himself a bit higher than the brunette was, for the first time it was him who was looked up at, although… there really was no looking at all, especially not with Harry’s eyes squeezed shut like they were for the majority of the moment.

The time seemed to have slowed down, making the encounter feel like it was taking eternity when it did, in fact, come a little short to two minutes. Only then Louis felt hands resting on his waist, cold fingers sobering him up just a bit when they came into contact with the skin where his t-shirt was deliberately avoided, his eyes snapped open just for a second; lips parting for another breather and now that he found Harry staring back at him, he got an answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking himself in the first place.

He vividly remembered the darkness of the green in Styles’ eyes when he was being stared at with such an intense, intimidating gaze at his mum’s house and now, that he found the same thing right below him, he had a hunch that _maybe_ , just maybe, he misinterpreted the gaze as irritation and was not the only one who was anticipating this exact moment like a fool.

Only thing distinguishable from the silence was the smacking of their lips, the kiss remaining a heated, sloppy mess that with all of its teeth-clashing clumsiness, was so raw and eager that Louis couldn’t remember himself feeling quite like this before. 

Encouraged by the slender fingers making their way up to his sides, he gained the confidence to explore a bit for himself, and _God,_ the gates of heavens must’ve opened for him without him realizing because he did nothing to deserve even being in Harry’s proximity, not to mention… that.

His hands slipped under the front of Styles' plain t-shirt, a shiver shaking the boy's body when he felt fingers rushing to take in every inch of his skin before this whole thing stops being a reality. Louis remembered the first time he ever thought of the brunette in such sinful way, still recalling the impeccable sculpture of his stomach that somehow felt softer than he would ever predict it to feel. He knew what was the reason behind the change, though. The hectic touring schedule left the singer with not enough time for working out twice a day, add to that the fact that the boy wasn't paying nearly as much attention to his diet as he did in LA and you have a reason for that slightest layer of chub that accumulated under his skin. Louis NEVER would've even thought about acknowledging the weight gain, knowing how much his friend was taught to care about maintaining the immaculate built of his silhouette but he was secretly enjoying every piece of it, whether it was with his eyes that sometimes wandered where they shouldn't or his hands, just like he did now. 

This time it was Harry who left Louis hanging, pulling back for longer than ever before, hovering his lips above his friend’s, panting without letting his fingertips ever leave the surface of Tomlinson’s skin. “God, you’re so gorgeous.” His head shook, a sly smirk on his flushed face.

Louis should not get nearly as excited as he did about this compliment he got that was far from being true either way but let’s just say that if Harry Styles, one of the hottest men on the planet calls you gorgeous, you take it and run with it. Although, he had a hard time giving Harry any credibility after his teenage crush turned out to be Tobey fucking Maguire.

It was hard to even find an answer to this compliment, considering that he didn't even feel like there was anything needed in return. There was really not much he could even say. Of course, he could've easily said that Styles is fit as well, but then, how ridiculous would he sound? Describing Harry's physique in any kind of word, no matter how big, seemed like an offensive understatement. Instead of answering, Louis found himself scoffing slightly, thinking how stupid his marvelling over Harry's physique was when only a few weeks prior he claimed he didn't see the hype. Little did he know…

When there was nothing falling off Lou’s tongue, Harry bumped his swollen lips against the writer’s, just for a second before he pulled away. “And I taste like garlic.” A soft murmur brushed warmly over Tomlinson’s chin.

Was he right? Yeah, now that he mentioned it, Lou could sense the subtle hint of garlic that was overpowered by the taste of alcohol and to be completely honest, he couldn't care less. For some reason, the fact that they were both far from their prime was making the whole thing even more real, exciting. "I can't see how this is a bad thing." He settled on reassuring his partner, his head dipping down to catch his earlobe in between his teeth, taking the slightest nibbles at the skin only to move down to his neck a few seconds later.

Harry’s head fell back, resting on the pillows of the sofa as he provided more access to his friend’s wandering lips. There was a vicious war between his want and reason, fighting over whether it was a good idea to leave a little mark on the tanned skin. See, he _knew_ that with no recent 'dates' with his girlfriend, Styles could hardly find a way to explain the love bite upon being asked about it but then, he was childish like that, and a certain part of him wanted to leave something after himself. He didn't though, thinking that there's a whole stretch of the boy's skin he could riddle with bites and kisses, without getting him in serious trouble.

When Styles' t-shirt wouldn't stretch any more, restricting access to his chest, Louis got frustrated and with a stubborn look on his face quickly removed it from his partner's complicit body that let him, without question uncover more of his ink-riddled skin for his eyes to devour.

There was a beat of silence when the older man stared at the broad chest stretched before him, tracing his fingertips over the tattoos, touching them just barely so. With an interested look on his face, he stuck around that particular part, letting his legs give up supporting his weight, fully seating himself on his friend's lap. Of course, he could sense how impatient the boy under him started getting, on the one hand enjoying the soft touch of Lou's fingers, on the other frustrated with the borderline painful stretch around his fly, one that the other guy was very aware of as well, feeling the growth where his bum was pressing on it.

Being as good and compassionate of a person as he was, Louis pressed himself tighter around Harry’s crotch, rubbing his hips back and forth to provide the friction the boy sought for so desperately. A breath hitched in Styles’ throat from unforeseen stimulation, lips falling open, seeking his friend’s with almost desperate fervour. Seeing the eagerness in the brunette’s expression, he dipped his head from where he was admiring the stretch of abs before his eyes, thumbs pressed to bare nipples that hardened in a split second from being touched. 

A gasp got lost in the kiss when Lou's bottom rubbed the singer in just the right way, fingers clawing deeper into the smaller guy's sides, trying to pull him closer as if there was any space between them, to begin with. "I think…" Tomlinson panted out when their lips parted without any of them ever deciding to pull away, just a subconscious decision of their oxygen-deprived, alcohol-influenced brains. He was smiling just slightly, dipping his head, face tickled with Harry's dark hair that was already overdue for the cut. "I think we've skipped your bedroom on the tour you gave me." His whisper settled on the boy’s ear, a shiver travelling down his spine upon feeling the tip of a tongue following the curve of his auricle, the caress concluded with a feisty nibble on the earlobe. 

Well, that's how graceful in his drunken, concupiscent haze he could make the request that was just his fancier, less direct way of begging the boy to fuck him. There was a whole lot of things running through his head; from the odes he composed about the feeling of Harry's skin under his fingertips to the warning signs that told him that this was probably the worst thing they could be doing at the moment; the cartoonish, small Louis with angel wings, sitting on his right shoulder, urging him to stop this madness and go to sleep, immediately. 

Let's just say that he reasoned more with the little devil on the opposite side, his arguments far more convincing since those led to him getting laid, the first time in an embarrassingly long while. He needed that, he needed to be dicked down good and it's not even only that. Now that their lips seemed to be stuck together, held connected by the glue that could only be lust, it kind of clicked in his head that there was really no way they wouldn't end up this way, sooner or later. 

Not a fate thing, never a fate thing, this was all a bunch of utter shite. Destiny aside, there was never really denying that since they’ve stopped being terrified of each other, their interactions were filled with the unfamiliar undertone that now, Louis could only recognize as this more or less intentional flirtation. 

His smiling lips escaped Harry’s kiss, an unsatisfied grunt concluding the occurrence but Louis, feeling his jaw getting sore already, hasn’t returned to the kiss, thinking that overworking it before he could show its full potential was not the best idea. “Hold tight.” Harry’s whisper almost disappeared in the minimal space between him and Louis who, feeling the tightening squeeze around his middle, quickly got the idea where this thing was going, not liking any of it.

With mouth agape, he threw a meaningful gaze at Harry, pretty much accusing him of being bat shit crazy for even thinking that he not only could manage to get the two off the couch and carry his partner upstairs but also for being so confident that Louis would ever let himself be manhandled like that. Absolutely not, Styles' gym results aside, he was not going to be the one with his friend's disability, that would most likely come out of this stupid idea, on his conscience. "You're crazy, get up." He urged after hopping off himself, taking a step to admire how absolutely divine the boy looked right now. With the patches of red all over his face, the glassed over eyes and deep crimson of his puffed lips, Louis couldn't remember ever seeing him look nearly as hot as he looked at the moment and he had seen him at his supposed best, all dolled-up before a show or a TV appearance… nothing came close to _that._

All of the blood rushed down his body, the thought of him being the culprit behind making the boy this hot mess especially arousing. Never in his life had he thought he’d be able to make a guy react like that to as little as making out and a few, innocent grinds of his pelvis. Seeing how much he had already done, he was only curious what more he could get out of Harry when he _really_ tries.

“Mine or yours?” Louis asked, despite previously implying the direction they were going to head in. He felt restless fingers sneaking behind him, moulding to the curve of his waist, pulling him closer as if the thought of the lack of physical contact between the two of them was unbearable for even as short as it took them to get to either of bedrooms. 

It was embarrassing how it took literally no time for him to completely fit himself against Harry's side, but that was the least of his concerns right now. "Mine, please." The pleading note in brunette's voice made all the shame in being so needy disappear immediately, matched with similarly exaggerated eagerness. 

Upon reaching that agreement, hardly the most challenging decision in the world, they started crossing the distance to Harry's bedroom. Thinking how unbearably long it took, without taking long at all, made Louis realize that they should've just stayed on the couch that was perfectly fine, to begin with. 

It was funny, Tomlinson complaining about the length of their commute and then, purposefully dragging it out by bumping the boy against the wall and stealing some kisses here and there, his lack of patience resulting in further postponing the main event he was looking forward to and judging by the prominent bulge in Harry’s blue jeans, he was second in the ranking of excitement about the moment; quite surprising since he thought it was impossible to be needier than he already was.

They hadn't managed to get into the bedroom before it was Louis who was pressed against the closed door, chuckling amusedly at the way Harry couldn't keep his lips off him. Not that he was much better himself. Hell, taking everything under consideration, it was he who was worse actually. 

He didn't remember ever making that decision, but somehow, he found himself hanging in the air, stabilized only by the panel of the door and Styles' hands that held him up for dear life, fingers clawing into the thighs that absentmindedly wrapped around boy's hips. 

His senses freaked out at the sudden suspension, searching desperately for something to anchor himself to prevent from being dropped, somewhat sceptical of Harry’s ability to hold him up in place. He settled on his best bet and wrapped his arms around Styles’ neck, feeling the tickling of the boy’s nose against the thin skin of his neck.

Impatient, he started tugging on the ends of his friend's dark locks, urging him to do anything to further progress their situation, not really having a lot to say with how absolutely useless he was right now, fully submitting to the singer's will. He wasn't sure if he liked that, there was something exciting about being deprived of any control, but the whole thing was very unfamiliar to him, causing this little itch of discomfort in the back of his head.

Thankfully, his telepathic abilities apparently worked, causing Harry to push the doorknob, letting the two of them inside of the bedroom that Louis wasn’t completely unfamiliar with, at least not as much as he made it seem before. He might have had a peek inside, losing the fight with his nosiness that gave him at least some idea of the layout and the décor of the room. 

“Here we are.” The younger lad whispered softly, at least as much as his heavy breathing let him. He was still carrying his friend, relaxed to the point where he might as well have been carrying a pillow, not a whole person and _yes,_ Louis wasn’t necessarily a giant, but he still had some weight to him. 

It’s not like the writer could see the bedroom from where his face was nuzzled against Styles’ neck, giving it as much attention as he could without leaving any semi-permanent marks. “Cool.” He huffed out, his bent lips still in contact with his friend’s skin, even if just slightly. “Now what?” His teasing voice brushed over Harry’s ear, head straightening just to press a few rushed kisses. 

He was fully prepared to be asked to get off right now, there must’ve been a limit to how long Harry was able to hold him in place, right? Apparently not. They started moving towards where Louis knew the bed was, each step getting both more and more excited about what’s yet to come. Now, being where they already were, there was no way either of them misunderstood the situation, no other outcome than the one Louis was looking forward to.

A second or two later, he was unapologetically thrown onto the thick mattress, his body bouncing just slightly before Harry was already there to hold him down in place. Not even the awkward position was able to keep them off each other, lips linked back in a kiss, rubbing together with utmost urgency, tongues familiarizing with one another, twisting and turning, led by lust. 

It took them a minute or so to get Louis where Harry wanted him, now laid with his back pressed to the pillows of the neatly made bed. The fact that both were still almost as clothed as they were an hour ago started getting upsetting, to both. While their little foreplay was nice in itself, well… nice being quite a small word to describe it, both of them were eager to get to the main event they both already decided was going to take place.

Separating their lips met with just a bit of resistance from both of them, snapping together even just for a second, just as if they weren’t responsible for how their bodies acted. “What do you think you’re doing?” Harry rasped out mid taking the only t-shirt that stood in their way, his own thrown somewhere on the floor of his living room. He managed to stop his friend’s hand before it reached to the bedside table, where the man was undoubtedly trying to get the lights off. “You’re too...” A little peck was pressed on the side of Tomlinson’s belly button. “Way too gorgeous to…” Another kiss, just a bit higher than the previous. “To do that.” The springy locks tickled Lou’s stomach when Harry shook his head, not noticing the blush on his partner’s face as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone, apparently not that considerate about whether his friend was going to have an explanation for the bruise he was now working on, smoothing his tongue over the irritated spot where he had sunk his teeth just a second before. 

With the top out of the way, the progression to the bottoms was way quicker than the one between the t-shirts; Harry’s impatient fingers fumbling with the zipper of Louis’ shorts before he tugged them completely off, with just a little help from the writer, not that he necessarily needed that. 

The smirk on the face of a boy above him gave him the biggest rush of confidence, ridding him off every single doubt he might have had about his appearance. None of the things he used to beat himself up over was there anymore, it was just him and Harry; Harry who with his glorious musculature and statuesque sculpture of his handsome face, apparently found him desirable. He couldn't think about a better remedy for low self-esteem than whatever the fuck was this fever dream happening to him right at this moment.

He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he was right there, wearing only a pair of boxers; exposed and very obviously aroused, waiting for Harry’s next move, fully submitting to the boy’s orders. There was a brief second, he took to thank the gods for having him choose the good pair of underwear, not the usual hole-riddled ones that he was too stubborn to throw away, still insisting that they’re wearable. 

There was a minute where he couldn’t even remember what exactly happened, just as if he blacked out for a bit. When he snapped back into consciousness, he found Styles hovering above him, stark-naked. The reason for his brief malfunction revealing itself the second he let his eyes wander, taking in every piece of Harry, still as excited about the features he already had a chance to see as the one that was a novelty. 

Despite how absolutely exhausted he was, Louis found his mouth salivating unwillingly, preparing itself for the act he already decided to engage in. Even though he had this idea about letting himself get dominated, just to see how it works out for him, he couldn’t help himself; his body without much thought taking advantage of the moment where Harry got himself off his body and sitting up, ready to push the boy down on the mattress the second he gets back from the bathroom he wandered to, leaving his partner needing, panting mess. 

Not that there were any doubts about where the thing was going, but even if there was just a sliver of one, it went out of the window the second Styles got back, setting a bottle of lubricant with a strip of condoms wrapped around it, as shamelessly as if he just brought a glass of water. 

Louis thought it was impossible to get any hotter than he was already, but then, the temperature of his body spiked upon seeing what he saw as the ultimate seal on the unsaid deal that they will, in fact, go all out. “Come on.” He urged his lover, patting the mattress where he left space for the boy to take, giving himself a moment to take-in as much of his body as he could in the brief moment it took Harry to get settled, his half-sitting body propped on an elbow.

He was NEVER going to admit that, but he might have wandered into the fanfiction section of Harry's fanbase while doing his research, just at the beginning, before he met the boy and it all just became way too weird. It was really quite amusing whenever he would get to the raunchy stuff, not knowing even why he stuck around long enough to get there. Seeing that his fans had this exaggerated view of their idol as some god-like creature with a ten-inch monster cock, with all the fireworks and confetti, made Louis wonder whether the people busying themselves with writing those stories had ever seen a dick in their life, the question kind of answering itself.

 _Thankfully,_ the ten inches his fans got excited about turned out to be something around more sensible seven, eight, at best. Even knowing how ridiculous the internet’s claims were, he would’ve lied if he told that there wasn’t just the slightest surge relief when it turned out that Harry was much more manageable than rumoured.

Not giving that particular part of Harry’s body more attention than that, thinking that dick’s a dick and there’s not really that much variation, he dared himself to touch, surprised by the slightest tremble of his fingers where he set them above Styles’ knees. Fingertips grazed the skin, tracing all the way up to the groin where after one or two circles around the base of Harry’s cock, he let his fingers curl around the girth, sourcing even more confidence after seeing how abruptly the boy’s chest deflated at the slightest touch.

He felt the intense gaze on him where he started jerking his hand up and down, massaging the boy's erection to its full fruition. Feeling a bit daring himself, he lifted his eyes up, smirking slyly at the boy who forced himself to keep his lids parted, getting particularly heavy upon getting touched this way for the first time in a while. "Feels good, yeah?" Tomlinson urged the boy back to reality, making sure he's there to witness the next step. The frantic nodding he got in return enough to give him the green light.

His head dipped down, lips pressing to the vein on the side of Styles’ cock without any hesitation, taking toothless nibbles at the length before he found himself around the tip, leaning down again and licking a bold stripe up the underside, feeling the fleshy taste on his tongue from where the precome started collecting around the foreskin. 

Seeing how absolutely scrambled the brunette got from as little as this, he knew that it's going to be easy. He was far from fellatio virtuoso, but with Harry being this panting mess underneath his touch, he might as well be one. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he let his head fall down, Harry's throbbing cock slipped in between his lips, hollowed cheeks clinging to the shaft, providing much-needed friction along the stimulation coming from the sucking. 

His fingers travelled a little south, just to give some attention to Styles’ balls as his head bobbed up and down his erection, driven by the guttural moans his ears were blessed with, better praise than any word he could’ve ever heard. 

Harry’s hazy consciousness made itself apparent the second he saw Lou struggling to keep his hair contained, too long to stay out of the way, too short to be successfully secured behind his ear. Without hesitation, he brushed the strands back with his spread fingers, keeping them in place with his hand that rested there, entangled in the caramel of Lou’s hair. 

At first, he thought he was going to get some silent direction from the hand atop his head, just some instructions to further better the experience for the singer; none of that happened though, saying everything there was to say in terms of how he was doing.

His eyes teared up when he got a bit too eager, and Harry's tips clashed with the back of his throat which constricted around the shaft, the vibrations picked up by the throbbing dick, travelling to the tips of the boy's fingers and brain, urging just a bit of dragged-out profanity to fall off his lips.

Curiosity took the best of Louis. With a cock still buried in his throat, jaw aching from the blowjob, he gave his partner the most obscene look he could bring himself to. Eyes red-rimmed and teary, lips swollen around the girth of his erection, the sight alone pulled a moan out of the brunette who got a bit carried away and pushed Lou’s head down, causing more tears to fall down his cheeks as he choked. 

"I…" Harry sighed, and Tomlinson had a good idea of what he was going to say. Being the little shit that he was, he wasn't going to comply with unsaid orders, not at all. Seeing how much effort it took for the boy to keep himself at bay, he decided to make it just a bit harder on him, utilizing everything he learned throughout the years, bringing his partner dangerously close to the peak. "Louis… please, enough." He finally chuckled out, the razors more prominent in his voice than usual.

Saying that he was proud of himself would've been a lie, he felt like some type of God for even being able to get that boy to the state he was in at the moment. He smiled at the brunette, enjoying the sight of his flushed silhouette, glistening in the dim light of the light he was glad he didn't turn off after all, unconsciously choosing to deprive himself of the sight before him. His hand was still wrapped around Harry's cock, giving him a few, lazy tugs to torment him a bit more, without the risk of the journey ending prematurely.

He grew painfully aware of his own erection, rock-hard stretch in his boxers begging for attention. Harry immediately reached his hand to return the favour, his fingertips sending jolts of pleasure with every shift over the aching cock. Feeling how he felt, even with the barrier of the boxers between them, he was very unsure whether he wasn't going to make a fool of himself upon just the tiniest bit of skin-to-skin attention received by his throbbing length. 

The impatient side took the wheel, boxers flying to the floor in a matter of seconds, leaving him exposed before the man who was both the origin of the majority of the doubts about his physique and the direct source of the most confidence-inducing words he had heard, possibly ever. It was weird how much conflict the boy was able to cause in Louis' brain without even realizing.

Without thinking too much, having his dignity in mind, he straddled Harry’s lap, therefore restricting the boy’s moves to those he was _almost_ positive, wouldn’t cause him to come on the spot.

His head dipped down, kissing the trail from Harry’s lips, down his dewy skin up until his stiff bones felt he got too far. He smiled down at his partner, unapologetically staring at him, feeling eager fingers on the swell of his bum, slowly but surely letting themselves explore closer to the middle.

There was a weight taken off his shoulders when his suspicion was proven to be right. See, there was never really a point when either explicitly declared their preference for which part they were filling in the situation quite like this one. _Okay,_ maybe they should’ve set this straight earlier, minutes from penetration was hardly the right time to discuss which would be the one doing the pushing. Thankfully, with the odds miraculously being in their favour this particular night, the things seemed to have worked out the way Louis hoped they would, further drying the well of their luck for a month, at least.

"Lay down for me, will you?" The singer's voice fluctuated from raw and raspy to soft and airy with surprising ease, unlike to anything Louis had ever seen.

Of course, he was going to comply. It’s not like he wasn’t waiting for the moment, just the last stretch before the main event they were both so excited to get to. His legs fell open the second his back pressed on the pillows, his eagerness meeting with a smirk from a boy who sat in between his legs, propping Lou’s pelvis on a pillow before letting his fingers wander down and explore a bit.

Louis shook his head, silently asking the boy to keep off his leaking cock that threatened to burst. Thankfully, Harry was not even nearly as big of a pain in the ass to disobey him for the sake of teasing, he knew better than to risk an orgasm that could’ve not affected the rest of the fun just as much as it could ruin it. He was not going to push their luck any further.

After he let himself admire the man under him just for a bit, he cut to the chase, inaudibly asking his partner to make the job of moistening his fingers, all three he was planning to use sucked into Lou’s mouth, the sensation reminiscent of those lips, caused a pulse to travel right to Harry’s cock.

Getting just a little help from his own saliva, slicking the way down Lou’s crack, Harry started tracing his fingertips carefully around Louis’ puckered entering, the twitch of the muscles upon being touched begging him to go further.

With just a little more teasing, he moved on to the important task of preparing the writer for the final act. There was no way he could ever half-ass the part, hearing enough horror stories about the consequences of preparing the partner haphazardly. Too much was at stake for him to brush over the step, even if his heavy erection seemed to urge him to do exactly that. “Okay?” He asked when he heard a little gasp falling off Lou’s lips when he pressed his middle finger past his rim, stopping at the first knuckle.

“Yeah, yeah… alright.” The man nodded fervently, prompting the rest of the finger to disappear inside of him. His eyes fell closed when he felt the wetness of lube on his rim, not even noticing when exactly Harry reached for the bottle. “Oh, fuck…” He cursed out when the unpleasant drag of the skin inside of him disappeared, the slick of the lubricant making the intrusion unbelievably pleasurable, even if one finger was not nearly enough to get him off.

Urging Harry not to be so diligent, he managed to convince the boy that he was ready for a third just a few seconds after he was introduced to the second finger. They took long enough fooling around, he needed more, immediately. 

The sky started to turn navy, foreshadowing the abrupt end of the night when Louis was unravelling, sprawled on the bed with three of Harry's fingers deep inside of him, getting familiar with each other he would've never thought they would get familiar in. There was not really a necessity to say that he did not see that as a bad thing, was there? His body spoke for itself with all the gasps and twitches of his body. Harry had no way of knowing that it wasn't a usual reaction, but it surely wasn't. 

Maybe it was his drunk brain seeing the encounter as some kind of sex Olympics, biased simply from the fact who his partner was but he did feel marvellous, extremely responsive to every single touch, hard and heavy, impatient to get to the last part.

He was sure he'd scream if he wasn't quick enough to press a hand to his lips and muffle whatever it was that his body produced when a tip of a finger brushed lightly over his prostate, the delicate stimulation leaving him a trembling, pathetic mess, begging for more. "Would you fuck me already, please?" With all the politeness he could bring himself to use, he urged the boy to finish opening him up, certain that he was ready to take him after the thorough preparation. 

Styles seemed to be mocking his lack of patience as if he wasn't the one who barely kept his shit together just a few minutes prior. If all of his integrity wasn't out of the window at this point, he'd get out and leave the brunette hanging, acting like he was incredibly insulted with the smug smirk on his face.

Well, there was none of that though, every cell of his body yearning for as little as a touch from a boy who was preoccupied with pulling a condom over his cock, taking care to rub an excessively big amount of lube over the rubber, tracing the rest over Lou’s rim, the fingers pulling a shiver out of the unsuspecting man. 

Harry made sure to come back to his partner’s lips, reminding himself of the feel of them on his as he settled himself in a somewhat comfortable position. “You’re sure?” The overthinker in him shone through the drunken mindlessness, the swell of the tip of his cock very apparent in between Lou’s cheeks, pressing against the rim without enough force to break the barrier just yet, not without his partner explicitly asking him to do so.

There was not enough air in Tomlinson’s lungs to force as little as a word, the weight of Harry’s body on his taking a toll on his lung capacity. They had to settle on the nod of his head that seemed to be enough consent.

Trying to provide enough distraction to the man under him, Styles started pressing kisses all over his face, hanging above him with just a little trepidation before fully committing to the conclusion of this surreal turn of events. 

His lips did not leave Lou's skin as he finally thrust his hips forward, letting the tip of his cock break through the tight rim of muscles, pushing just a bit more in before fully stopping in his tracks, letting the writer get used to the stretch inside of him. Sobering up, he looked at his partner, observing every twitch in his expression that from uncomfortable, slowly transformed back into what it was before. 

With many more nods of approval, more and more of Harry's length was introduced to the tight hole that eagerly accepted every piece of it, not that long after, the entirety sheathed inside of him, taking just a little pause to get used to the size before giving the boy the green light to proceed.

Slow and steady tempo rocked them back and forth, synchronized with every push of Styles’ pelvis. Heavy breathing mixed with the lewd slapping of their skin together and an accidental whine that slipped out Lou’s nostrils from time to time, getting louder and more frequent when he got the idea that his partner was enjoying his performance. 

Harry’s free hand slipped down Lou’s side, resting on his thigh before he hoisted it up and held the knee in line with his hip, the thrusts growing more fervent and forceful as they got more and more used to each other, observing one another’s reactions to see what tickled their fancy and tailoring the performance towards the partner.

Louis’ lip was bitten down, muffling a moan of pleasure, nails digging into his lover’s shoulders as he rolled his hips to meet him halfway thrust, giving each even more power they were thoroughly enjoying. The whole thing changed a second after when a terrifying grimace of pure pain twisted his face. The expression was so brief, he hoped Harry missed it, too preoccupied with the movements of his pelvis but no… He stopped moving altogether, observing with worry how the pain made its way back on his lover’s face every second or so.

Seeing how absolutely frightened the boy looked, Louis tried to smile through the pain he felt, knowing that it will pass. “It’s a cramp, ‘m sorry.” He explained after seeing that his smile did nothing to calm the singer down. “Give me a minute.” 

The apologetic tone of his voice caused Harry to scoff. Without hesitation, he pulled out of Louis, leaving him frustrated and disappointed, maybe the slightest bit angry considering how close he was to the finish line.

Styles had none of that. He took the leg he was holding previously into his lap and quickly located the cramp, getting his fingers in the front line, fighting the disobeying muscles that decided to spasm the fuck out in the least suitable moment. 

The writer smiled through the pain when he felt the soft lips pressed to the side of his hairy calf, fingers still skillfully kneading the misbehaving muscle. It hurt like hell, just as it always did but this was the first time he remembered having a cramp in somebody’s company, so he tried to be man about it. His efforts fell out of the window when a pained cry unwillingly left his lips. “I’m sorry, so sorry. Just breathe, it’s calming down.” Styles provided verbal support, still massaging the cramp away with an occasional chaste kiss that he apparently thought to be some sort of remedy.

Of fucking course, it was calming down. Who was he to think he knows better than the guy who literally felt every twitch of his knotted muscle? "I'm having a cramp, not a child." He snarled, maybe a bit too standoffish. In his defence, he fully blamed Harry for the pain he unexpectedly found himself in. It was the boy who dragged him through what it felt like the entire city on his legs only, it was his fault.

Although the attention he was given, kind of redeemed the fault and now, he was back to feeling like an asshole. "Thank god." Harry didn't seem to take offence in the harsh tone, concluding the brief exchange with a joke. "I'm not qualified for _that_.”

And there it was, the end of the cramp debacle. The younger guy massaged the sore spot for a bit more than it was necessary and smoothed a hand over the hair he managed to dishevel, a small kiss before he got back to Lou’s lips, rubbing against them so innocently that it fully confirmed the writer’s suspicion that he had no intention of getting back where they left off.

"No, no, no…" Louis took matters into his own hands and whispered into Harry's mouth, fingers dragging the path down to the erection that was still as hard as he remembered it being inside of him. Props to the guy for being able to deny himself for the sake of his partner's comfort but no way, he was nowhere near possessing this kind of control. He needed him back inside, he needed him now, and frankly, he did not care about the noble gesture. "We're not done here." His voice said everything about the amount of arguing he was willing to accept, zero was the number.

Seeing that there was no way he ever could win against Louis, too familiar with the stubborn look on his face, Harry positioned himself above the boy, letting himself push back into where the muscles seemed to be already waiting for his return, not that it was any sort of inconvenience in the boy’s book, he was just a bit worried. 

A series of little whines left Lou’s lips when his partner picked up the pace they were going in before they were rudely interrupted. With his hand wrapped around the edge of the headboard, Harry started slamming himself into his partner, lewd slapping of their skin together accompanied by the blunt thud of the bedframe, crashing against the wall from how forcefully he was thrusting his hips, each movement concluded by a scowl caused by the head of his cock meeting Lou’s prostate.

It was all just a little too much for Tomlinson to handle. His threatening demeanour from just a moment ago disappeared; the whimpering, needy silhouette unrecognizable at this point. He felt himself being so close, Harry's cock making him feel things he didn't remember ever being introduced to, add to that the stimulation of his own erection, trapped between the two of them and you have the reason why he came with a loud scowl, fingernails pressing crescent-shaped bruises on the stretch of his partner's back.

He felt the sticky mess of his come, smearing between their bellies, his brain all too aware of the climax, making him overly conscious of everything that was happening to him and around him. The smell of Styles' cologne, mixed with the musk of brunette's sweat, prickled his nostrils sharply where he could barely detect anything just a few seconds ago, the thud of the bedframe louder in his ears, a blunt pain adding to the effects of the hungover that started already creeping in on him, no matter that the writer still felt himself being drunk.

Carrying on with his act, he moaned into Harry's ear, legs limp around him where he wasn't really able to squeeze them without a threat of the cramp returning. His efforts doing everything just right, enough for the singer to sink his head down, nuzzling it against the crook of his lover's neck as he spilt into the condom with a deep sigh leaving his lungs.

After a few deep breaths, leading the lazy strokes of his cock, he pulled out of his partner, knowing all too well that there was a chance that Louis was not enjoying himself as much after he spilt between them. He gave the shorter man a few, innocent pecks before he slid himself out of bed. "You need anything?" A question made Louis scoff just a little. It was more of adoration than mocking, just marvelling about how attentive the boy was even despite the fact that they were both worn out and still held by the alcohol drank that night. 

A minute or two had passed before the brunette returned after disposing of the condom, a wet flannel in his hand. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat down and carefully removed the smeared semen off Lou's stomach. "Thirsty?" He reached out a bottle of water he kept near his bed at all times, and sure enough, he might as well have read Tomlinson's mind. 

The whole bottle of water was split between the two before Harry switched the lights off and slipped under the covers to join Louis, who already found his way underneath. The decision of entangling their bodies was made without either of them realizing but there they were, Louis' leg propped on Harry's as his head rested on the broad chest.

Soft puffs of air announced that he managed to fall asleep, seconds after making it onto Styles’ chest, the exhausted singer following right after, not quite in a state for deep thinking the whole encounter was inevitably going to result in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is. For all of you who couldn't bear the sexual tension any longer. Sorry for teasing so long, hope y'all are not too mad.  
>  I encourage you to leave a comment whether you've enjoyed it or have some constructive criticism my writing could benefit from. Seeing that somebody is actually reading my stuff always motivates the shit out of me.


	16. Chapter 16

The sun shone directly onto the bed, conveniently blinding Louis the second he managed to open his eyes, causing them to shut immediately, trying to rid himself of the horrible, sharp pain that added to the dull one he felt from the moment he surfaced back to the consciousness.

Miserable would be a huge trivialization of the state he woke up in, feeling like he was on the verge of dying, knowing that he only had his own lack of ability to stop drinking to thank for how awful he felt.

The only thing making the hangover better were the fingers wrapped around his waist, a tall silhouette pressed tightly to his back, face nuzzled against the nape of his neck. “Morning.” The soft rasp of this oh-so-familiar voice caused his body to shiver just a bit, shaken by all the memories of last night that immediately rushed back into his head, throwing away the little bit of regret he felt when he woke up. Vivid pictures of the last thing he remembered, ensuring that the hungover was a small price he had to pay for the events of the night. “Thought you’d never wake up.” The soft pillows of the brunette’s lips were pressed right below Lou’s hairline, gracing the skin with a series of small, innocent pecks, concluded with a deep inhale as the hand that was wrapped around him travelled up, fingertips grazing abstract images on the writer’s chest.

It was hardly the first time they woke up in one bed, not the first one they’ve had a cuddle either but it felt very different from any of the previous times. Maybe Louis was just the tiniest bit surprised to see Harry so shamelessly cuddly. From their previous encounters, kind of ready to not even acknowledge the situation and move on with their lives as if they haven’t had sex just a few hours earlier.

None of that seemed to be happening though. Styles’ hands wandering boldly all over his friend’s body, caressing his sides, fingers barely coming into contact with his skin.

Tomlinson only blurted out a whole bunch of incoherent grunts in response, pressing his face into the pillow, too scared to expose his companion to the truly horrifying blend he could taste on his tongue. He had no intention of getting up, too busy enjoying the idyllic morning filled with cuddles and soft whispers; not even the ache that settled in pretty much every part of his body was enough to stop him from giving into Harry’s delicate touches.

Thirty minutes have passed, spent on perhaps more cuddles and kisses than he remembered getting in his lifetime and if not that, at least last year. It was Louis who finally broke the bubble they’ve entrapped themselves in; his stomach, to be specific. The growling grew louder and louder as the minutes passed, no amount of wishful thinking for the noise to stop resulting in any significant effect, silent urging hardly a viable food replacement. 

At first, Styles let himself be persuaded to stay, as unwilling to end the moment as the other guy but it was not long before the noises were so loud and prominent, that there was no use pretending neither was hearing them. Not only that. The singer could feel the contractions of his friend's stomach as well as he could hear them, with his hand pressed to Louis' belly.

“I think we’re overdue for breakfast.” Harry murmured into his friend’s ear, slipping his hand away from the man who reacted to the movement with a disapproving grunt. 

Tomlinson’s eyes trailed to the clock he noticed while scanning the room previously and _yes,_ with the smaller hand approaching third in the evening, they were sure as fuck overdue for breakfast. “I’m not moving.” His head shook lazily, still remembering the painful lesson that anything faster than that wasn’t the best idea.

His words met with absolutely no reaction from the taller man, slowly getting himself out of bed, stretching the stiff muscles, likely unaware of Louis' gaze, the man observing every shift of the toned back before the host kicked a scrap of fabric into his hand and pulled yesterday's pair of underwear on, in order to make himself at least a bit more decent. "Sweet or savoury?" A question hung in the air for a second before Tomlinson snapped back into the reality and realized that he was being spoken to.

This was too big of a choice to make, the writer lacking brain capacity to even think about what he felt like eating. “Surprise me.” The ball was bounced back on the pitch of a boy who only nodded with a smirk stretching his lips and padded out of the bedroom, leaving his friend to his own devices as he ran downstairs.

It took a lot of willpower to get him out of bed, very unwilling to acknowledge the end of the pleasant morning, he finally managed to drag his wobbly body off the mattress, searching for his own boxers on the floor, pulling them on as soon as he spotted them on the other end of the bedroom. 

He did not exactly know how long it was going to take Harry to prepare something for breakfast, judging by the aggressive whirling of the blender, it was more elaborate of a project than a sandwich or a bowl of cereal, which Louis knew for a fact, they did not have in the cabinets either way. 

Feeling absolutely disgusting with the sticky residue of last night clinging to his skin, he decided to risk it and hopped into the shower, needing desperately any minute he could manage to get under the stream of water, the pressure doing good of a job of sobering him up, still not enough for a man who felt that only a power washer could save him right now.

He lathered his body with Harry's body wash, the overly complicated fragrance notes giving him a whole another kind of headache until the scent disappeared with the suds that rushed down the drain. Making a quick job of washing his hair, he was done with his shower before he could hear his friend making his way up the stairs. 

Not being above borrowing somebody else’s towel, he reached for Harry’s where it was hanging off a hanger and dried himself off, tossing the heavy, wet fabric into the hamper, taking a mental note to apologize for this exhibition of his bad manners.

Thinking that getting into the same pair of boxers would render his shower useless, he decided not to do that and take his chances at crossing the distance between Harry’s bedroom and the guest one stark-naked, not that the boy would see something he hadn’t already seen even if they happened to stumble upon each other either way. It was just this weird dissociation between yesterday’s Harry and Louis and today’s, now much more aware of their words, actions and consequences that were more than likely to catch up to them.

Thankfully enough, things were going quite well, for the time being, nothing in the shape of awkwardness detectable in between the two, even though there were more than enough reasons for either of them to feel a bit uncomfortable around each other.

Louis spat out the blueish foam out of his mouth, deciding that it was a good idea for him to repeat the action of scrubbing the shit out of his teeth. His reflection smirked at him smugly after he reminded himself that maybe he was, in fact, feeling a bit uncomfortable over the events of the night, the feeling connected directly to the physical realm where his bottom still recovered from the stretch it grew unfamiliar with, in the long months of not being tended to.

To be completely honest, he felt fucking great. The slight waddle in his step reminding him of everything that happened to him yesterday and the fact that with his memories being quite fuzzy, he still could practically feel each touch, each thrust, each emotion in such detail, only spoke for how actually good it must’ve been there, on the spot. Not even the blaring headache was going to ruin his day, no thanks. 

He took the last swig, therefore ending the bottle of his travel-sized mouthwash; he played with the liquid trapped in his mouth before the burn of the alcohol started getting unbearable and forced him to spit out. Yes, okay… maybe he should've paid more attention when he picked up the bottle in some Italian drugstore and read the English translation of the label, not to mention that the words were embarrassingly close in either language. Oh well, it's hardly the first and most certainly not the last time he made himself look stupid, absolutely hopeless against the language barrier. 

Seeing his reflection, deeming it at least presentable, powerless over the dark shadows under his eyes, he left the bathroom and retrieved a clean pair of underwear from the suitcase which he probably should have unpacked now that he had five weeks to spend at that particular location.

He was already back in Harry’s bed, trying to seem as if he never left which was really quite foolish with his damp hair calling bullshit on the act quicker than his minty breath would. His timing couldn’t have been any better, not even five minutes later, the host returned with a tray in his hands, crowded with food ranging from sweet to savoury. “How’s your leg?’ The brunette asked and settled himself on the bed, putting the tray in between the two of them.

Saying that he wasn’t in pain anymore would’ve been a lie, there still was this unpleasant reminder of the cramp that surprised him last night, very much apparent with every step he had a chance of taking this morning. “Better.” He mumbled with his mouth halfway-full of toast he hungrily bit into, a forkful of scrambled eggs making its way down his throat when the words barely left his lips.

They were eating in silence for a bit before Louis reached for the remote and turned the TV on, quickly locating the halfway done episode of the cooking show they were watching earlier and put the rest on, his only intention to keep it as background noise since he had an idea that there was no way Harry enjoyed the sounds he produced while hastily devouring his breakfast.

There was really no surprise when he got through the food quicker than Styles did, now studying the tall glass of pinkish blend that by its appearance, told him absolutely nothing regarding the ingredients. “What’s in it?” A question was the safest bet, knowing that with Harry, he could never be certain whether he hasn’t tried to smuggle something disgusting inside.

The thought reminding him of the lengths his mother used to go to make him eat vegetables he just refused to touch as a child. Her efforts ranging from making up elaborate schemes to incorporate at least a small trace of _anything_ into his dinner or homemade nuggets she used to make him as a treat after a week of behaving correctly to straight-up lying, he still had trust issues from his mum trying to convince him to eat cauliflower, pretending it was chicken.

Now, he was nowhere near as picky when it came to his food, his mum’s efforts apparently paying off, leaving Lou with just a few things he refused to eat. He was not _that_ picky, okay? Just the right amount. 

“Bananas, some berries, peaches, almond butter a splash of milk and… spinach.” Louis could see how reluctant the boy was to share the last ingredient, scared that it would scare the man away from the smoothie he prepared. “But it’s only a handful, you won’t even taste it.” He rushed to explain, looking at his friend with uncertainty in his features.

“Why would you put it in then?” The writer asked, more to fuck with the boy than having actually any issues with the spinach. 

“Vitamins, Louis.” Green eyes rolled to the ceiling, more for a show than anything else. “I thought you could use some greens in your diet.” A shrug shook his shoulders when he moved on to his glass of smoothie, taking a large swig of the viscous liquid that slipped down his throat, a quiet crunch emerging from between his molars when his jaws tightened, smashing the seeds of the berries he used in the concoction.

An exaggeratedly offended expression found its way on Lou’s face. “Oh, so now you’re calling me fat?” He asked with a shock in his eyes, playing it up for the sake of making the boy think that he was actually insulted. “And here I thought I was gorgeous.” He threw one hand in the air, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh my god." The singer sighed, looking just the tiniest bit frustrated, leaving Louis unsure whether it was real or fake. "It's for your knots, not your weight." He nudged his friend with a fist. "Potassium and magnesium, you need those." He took a deep breath, seemingly thinking over the words he was about to say. "I thought we were over the claim that I find you repulsive." 

The first consequence of sleeping with Harry revealed itself, Louis liked how absolutely over it the boy looked when he even mentioned that one time, he was unintentionally insulted by him. He was not sure whether he wanted to give the joke up, not sure it was even worth it. Well, the ship had sailed, now he was left without one of his favourite ways of teasing the brunette, partially dreading the decision he made of following through with the hook-up, not that there was a lot of thought put into the encounter. 

“So…” Tomlinson started only to take a break for the sip of his smoothie right after. “You’re just casually travelling with the whole getup?” He nodded his chin in the direction of the lube bottle that stood out like a sore thumb from where it was placed on the nightstand, surrounded by a strip of condoms.

Harry’s cheeks flushed just the tiniest bit pink, his gaze stuck to the TV, apparently very invested in the program he hasn’t expressed any interest in previously. His finger traced the rim of the tall glass, the tip licked off the tiniest spot of smoothie that transferred onto it. “I might have bought these after we first kissed.” The plump lips smiled around the rim of the glass when the boy dodged Lou’s amused gaze, dipping his head to take a sip. “Not usually, no.” 

Louis scoffed, looking at his friend, almost offended. "You thought…" A mocking laughter prickling both sets of ears with the exaggerated, high pitch. "I would _never_ sleep with you!" Putting all efforts in sounding as amused as he could bring himself to, he pushed another laugh out of his lungs, acting as if he wasn't silently thirsting over the boy for quite some time already. At least now, he won't have to feel guilty if Styles wanders into his impure thoughts like he sometimes used to. Now that he got the taste of him, he could already see that the boy was going to make his return more frequently, perhaps even daily.

“Yeah.” Derisive sneer seeping through Harry’s nostrils, head shaking to further support the act. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” The smug smirk transformed into a bright grin, so warm and fuzzy that Louis’ lips bent without him ever consenting to that impulse.

After they were done with the breakfast, Harry insisted that he should be the one who does the dishes, even if his argument that he was the one who dirtied them in the first place did not make too much sense. Exactly, he made the food, and it was only fair that the dishes are taken care of by the other guy, but Tomlinson gave up, not having the desire to fight over a chore he hasn't felt like tending to in the first place.

Even with as lovely start of the day as he had, the dull headache did not let itself be forgotten for as little as a second, pounding mercilessly in his skull. With his stomach finally insulated with a layer of chewed-up food, he was permitted to swallow two painkillers which he might have done without consulting the box, sending the boy who took the leaflets attached to the medication a tad too seriously into borderline madness.

It was not really a matter to pride himself in but having a lengthy period of bouncing from party to party, half of his year filled with hangovers similar to the one that was tormenting him right now, he really knew how to dose the pills. He’s been doing that for years and still haven’t died, he must’ve been doing something right.

Five in the evening was approaching when Harry emerged from his bathroom, refreshed by a long shower and started putting clothes on his body. It must’ve been his youth that prevented him from being even remotely as miserable as Louis was, still languishing in his misery where he was laid in bed with the cover tucked up to his chin. “Where you’re off to?” He asked Harry who pushed a pair of sunglasses onto his nose, covering the bottom half of his face with a mask that for him had a whole another purpose than shielding him from germs.

With his disguise fully on, a cap fitted over his damp hair, he sat on the edge of the bed and started putting his shoes on. “I have a... thing.” He explained without explaining anything at all, his destination still as mysterious as before. “I’m going to the studio, work on something. I’m gonna pop into a store on my way back, you need anything?”

Put on the spot, Louis couldn't think of anything he needed. Well, he kind of could, but Harry made it clear enough that he was not going to enable Louis' smoking, refusing to get him a pack no matter how desperate the writer was. "No…" The slightest note of uncertainty kept the brunette put, waiting for the man to fully make up his mind. "Actually yes, cereal." Styles was already lifting his bum off the bed when he felt a forceful pull on the back of his hoodie, holding him in place. "Listen to me. Carefully." Louis _tried_ to sound as threatening as he could. “I need all the ridiculous packaging I can get, do not test me with your fibre-y garbage, okay?” Harry nodded, chuckle exposed with only how his body shook, face hidden by a disguise. “If sugar is not in the top three on the ingredients list, I don’t want it, understood? “ Another nod. “If you try any of your tricks on me, I will literally strangle you and practice taxidermy on your lifeless body, using the sawdust you have the audacity to call cereal as a filling.”

“Okay, Hannibal.” Styles barked out a laugh, getting himself out of the restraints. “I’m going to be late though, have a strawberry if you feel like going into a murder spree from sugar deficiency.” He joked and started crossing his way towards the door.

“Busy late or avoiding me late?” There was a distinction between the two terms and both of them knew that even if they never addressed the differences quite this blatantly. 

“Busy.” The singer blurted out and left the room, disappearing behind the corner, loudly stomping his way down the stairs, the short commute concluded with a slam of the front door.

It was good knowing that there was no awkwardness where they were right now, at least neither acting like there was something of this sort between them. Louis had way too many perverse one-night lovers that turned into timid messes in his past, scared to even look at him, ashamed of their behaviour.

He had time for exactly none of that shit. So what you like to call your lover 'daddy' because you may or may not have unresolved issues with your father? Own up to your shit, really. Thankfully, Harry seemed not to be the tiniest bit ashamed of the last night's behaviour, and even though from what he remembered, their intercourse has not leaned in any kinky regions, he was still glad that the boy was not acting as if nothing happened, just as he was about their kisses, although that one was partially on Louis.

Whether there was more coming their way or not, he was content with how it all played out; just two adults having fun together, no shadow of commitment hanging above them, no threat of hurt feelings or messy conflicts resulting from the encounter. Two friends helping each other out in taking the edge off, as simple as that.

This whole thing was so familiar to Louis only because that’s exactly how he learned to treat sex, at least for the biggest part. A transaction, a mutually beneficial agreement that no matter if it was long-term or not, was clearly just there for the sake of giving both sides sexual release. 

And even if he made the mistake of getting in a 'relationship' with a boy or two who after initially claiming that they understood his conditions surprised him with a love confession, he was not about that life right now. There were too many bitter memories that reminded him of the consequences of pretending to have feelings for people he felt nothing towards in hopes that something awakens in him as the time goes by. It never happened, and frankly, he had only himself to blame for the number of hurt partners he had on his conscience after convincing himself that he could grow to love them, it was delusion that led him to that idea, that's what it was.

Saying that he never felt anything to any of his previous longer-term partners was not necessarily the truth. Sometimes it just happened that way that a boy started getting more and more comfortable in his apartment, staying over for more than the hook-ups and while he never really was a person who had a problem to kick out a person overstaying their welcome, sometimes he just didn’t feel like doing that. And while the formal status of most of his past relationships stayed undetermined, there was really no other way to call it when a guy pretty much set a camp in his apartment and dragged Lou’s unwilling ass to things that he could only deem as relationship-y, for the lack of a better word.

It's not like he was a heartless monster, using the boys he was seeing only for the sake of getting himself laid. No, there was always something between him and any guy he decided to keep for more than just sex. A friendship he mistook for love, ending as soon as he grew balls to have the conversation regarding the underdevelopment of his emotional side that just wouldn't let him fall for anybody, no matter how actually great some people he was dating were. And he was good for them too, just not able to provide what they wanted from him, not that their wishes were unreasonable.

Every single one of his breakups sucked, well… most of them. Due to his great taste in men, at least after the period where he'd literally chase about any dick that expressed interest in him, he had to hurt some really good guys and even if he hoped he would get to keep some in the friendzone after he broke their heart, it never happened, and he couldn't even blame anybody but himself for that.

Thankfully, it did not look like he was going to have to give up Harry, at least not just yet. Of course, the end of the relationship was scheduled for somewhere in December, and even if he wanted to live in a delusion that somehow, they're going to maintain contact after the deal is done, this was just not going to work. It was funny that with the boy being an international superstar with a tight schedule, that fact was not the first point on the list of the reasons why this friendship was not going to stand for any longer than their professional collaboration.

Louis was still far from making the executive decision which route he was going to take with his book, but there was this thought catching up to him that _maybe_ , it would be better if he scrapped the whole deal with Jeff and go completely rogue with the project.

He had a chance to read through the material he gathered in the section labelled ‘off the record’ and fuck _,_ there was _a lot_. A whole bunch of good material he couldn't stand the thought of wasting, the idea of making the book something completely different than it was supposed to be more and more tempting with how much more money it promised and a guarantee of great publicity, which would result in putting his name on the map, possibly carrying more commissions and more _money_ in the package and let’s just say that the vision of not having to worry about making ends meet wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

With how ridiculous the thought was the first time it ever sparked in his head, he was sure doing a lot of pondering over it. Of course, there was the deal with Jeff that was the biggest challenge he would have to face on his way to even release the book he was thinking about writing but then, there were two ways he could go around it. First being not actually going around it, just writing the most generic biography he could, therefore delivering on his end of the deal, making money from that and _then_ , moving on to his project, more his usual cup of tea than what he was doing right now… OR, he could just fully ignore the deal, write _his_ book and hope he’ll make enough to pay the fine they’ve agreed upon.

Yes, million dollars seemed completely unattainable at where he was in his life, **but** when he did some basic calculations along the way (okay he might have been thinking about it more than he was willing to admit), it didn’t seem so abstract anymore. Of course, he would much rather keep the million to himself, already making up scenarios how he would spend it but then, with the trends being so unpredictable, he couldn’t be sure if Harry would be quite this big in the industry if he goes with the first idea. There was this big strike the iron while it’s hot factor if he was ever thinking about the project being his big break.

Still claiming that this was just a stupid idea that he made up in his head, going nowhere since it was just so ridiculous, he found himself working on that particular document quite frequently, much more than on the book he was writing for Jeff, much to Azoff’s frustration when Louis kept making excuses why exactly he couldn’t send him samples. The angry messages less and less persistent, courtesy of the time difference between LA and wherever on the planet he happened to be, his location changing a lot only to end up in Tokyo that might have been one of the most convenient places.

His conception for the project changed from the original one, the reason for that being solely the sympathy he developed towards his subject along the way. See, being the actual devil of the literary world, the first lightbulb that lit up in his head was a full-on expose of Harry Styles as a person, that one very close to his usual style, sparking in his head very early in their relationship, somewhere in the first week of his lavish LA life. With Jeff handpicking exactly him for the job, he was sure that the man, for some twisted reason, was expecting exactly that. But then, Harry Styles fully threw that plan out of the window, proving himself to be possibly the most boring lad in the whole music industry, with barely any scandalous behaviour apart from the liking he took in dicks and whatnot, hardly shocking with the speculations that surrounded his eccentric persona.

He could lie and say that the lack of controversy resulting directly from Harry's behaviour was disappointing to him, but it really wasn't, the idea of his bank account swelling with money was very tempting but even if he was pretty sure he _could_ still follow through with the plan, having nothing to write about was way better of an excuse than hurting feelings of some pop star that was going to forget him a week after they finally part ways. 

Obviously, there was still a whole bunch of bullshit revolving around Styles, which presence was undeniable even if that wasn't the consequence of the boy being a horrible person. Most, if not every single one, coming from the poor management that was not really bad at all. Louis, in his fierce hatred towards Azoff, had a very hard time giving the man any credit but that bastard was indisputably the best thing that could have happened to Harry, who was still quite niche when he was taken under Jeff's wing and with that, the man was also the worst thing that happened to the unsuspecting boy, so eager to 'make it', whatever it meant to Harry from a few years ago. Louis knew for a fact that Styles never even dared to dream of things he was doing right now.

Knowing as much as he did already, getting more and more stuff with every heartfelt conversation he had with Harry, he was still certain that it wasn’t even half of the actual shit that was happening backstage. Even with some things still in the shadows, he already had enough material to expose that fucking vile twat, the entire entertainment industry maybe, doubting that Azoff was the only one who resorted to inhumane practices like the ones that landed Harry on top of the charts.

There was no denying that with how much attention people are giving to dramas involving some b-list personas with no actual significance at all, his investigative journalism piece about the exploitation of one of the most prominent artist in the music business was going to get some attention, a whole fucking lot if he was allowed to get cocky.

So… yeah, that was what he was doing lately. Writing a lot, not the thing he should have been writing but still, being somewhat productive. He found himself searching forums revolving around that particular branch of law quite frequently and even if the dives were usually leaving him with a headache caused by foreign lingo and a whole lot of complicated paragraphs, he pushed through, collecting things he thought could be useful, preparing questions for a lawyer that he was inevitably going to have to meet, given that he decides to go through with the project. 

That was not what he was doing right now though, the hangover providing him with just adequate amount of headache that he did not have to search for more. It was late already, the room was dim around him, the only light coming from a simple lamp standing on the side of the sofa Louis was sitting on, the warm gleam illuminating the side of his silhouette and the pages of the book he found himself diving into.

He did not know whether it was late enough that he should expect Harry’s comeback but either way, an hour or so ago, he finally dragged his body out of the boy’s bed because, _yes_ , he might have spent the entire day glued to that mattress, binge-watching two whole seasons of _Rick and Morty_ , but there was no reason for Styles to know that it happened. Maybe sitting his ass on the sofa with a book was not exactly an epitome of being the king of productivity, but it was still better than what he was doing before.

Somewhere in the back of his head, there was a question he's been asking himself from the moment Harry left, and boredom started creeping onto him. The question being, where the hell was his phone gone? Ransacking every room, he remembered being in last night hasn't yielded him any answers whatsoever, and right now, he was sure the damn thing fell off the face of the earth, and not even Sherlock fucking Holmes could've helped him find it.

Eventually, he gave up the fight, but the frustration was still there. See, it was too long since he had contact with his mother, at least one that wasn't restricted to a text here and there but let's be real, there was only so much he could get from half-assed reassuring that his mother was alright that did not carry a lot of credibility in the first place since it wasn't unusual for the woman to lie for the sake of keeping her son's mind at peace.

So yeah… as soon as the placement of his mobile stops being a mystery, he had his mind, set on calling his mum, and it did not even matter that he had virtually no idea what time it was back home, the conversion rates forgotten as soon as he had learned them.

He went back to the book he was reading, the one he _might have_ nicked from Harry’s bedside table, not feeling like making the four steps it took to reach the bookcase that, as it later turned out, was filled with a whole array of different titles that were more likely to interest him than the novel he ended up with.

He was never appreciative of the works of the romance genre, and as it turned out, Styles was the opposite. The book was nauseating at times with how idealized the whole countryside aura was, and if he was not going to get some serious drama before Harry gets back, he couldn't see himself bumping heads with the singer over who gets to finish the book first. Quite frankly, he wouldn't mind having the boy spoil him the ending since the reluctance of wasting any more time on that particular novel was almost outweighing his principle of not leaving any book he started unfinished.

The writer managed to get through seventeen more pages of thankfully easy-reading material before he heard the squeak of the front door, barely detectable thuds of shoes being kicked-off, following the click of the lock. "Not asleep." He mumbled after he realized that his friend tried to be stealthy as if Louis was ever able to hear him if he was actually sleeping upstairs.

There wasn’t a lot of things characteristic to him but one of them, the one he prided himself the most, was his ability to sleep _anywhere,_ although sleep was a light word to use in his case. Louis Tomlinson was able to pretty much hibernate wherever he was if only he was tired enough. That superpower proving to be really useful, especially now that most of his nights were spent in the confinement of his coffin-bed, inside of a moving vehicle that even despite the soundproofing, became quite loud, a constant commotion seeping into the bus on the motorways that were the biggest stretches of their travels.

Only when Harry got into the living room, sitting on the other end of the couch with a bag in his lap, Louis brought himself to look over his shoulder and catch the numbers displayed on the screen of a microwave. It was earlier than he thought it was, approaching one in the morning and while for some people, it was the middle of the night, for him and his fucked-up sleep schedule, the night was barely getting started. 

Without a word, the brunette started unpacking the tote, placing a big, really huge bag of granola on the coffee table.

The first reveal met with the blankest stare Louis could bring himself to give. “If there’s not more in that bag, you’re sleeping outside.” He deadpanned the threat, not knowing how exactly he could get rid of Harry now that he was inside. Thankfully, that was not going to be a thing he’d have to worry about since the boy retrieved a very familiar box that was just a bit different from the one he got used to seeing in the States. A smile bent his lips upon seeing that Harry got his favourite kind. Not really sure whether it was just pure coincidence, he dropped that information somewhere during their insignificant chats or the boy was just intellectually capable enough to make the assumption after seeing his friend devour box after box during their month of living together. Still, he was glad to have something familiar where he was, even if it was just a box of Cocoa Puffs. “Jackpot.” A whisper elicited a smile from Harry as he observed eager fingers ripping the cardboard open, the bag inside following.

"Look what I found." Another object was placed on the coffee table, another one Louis was familiar with and even if he was too busy putting handfuls of cereal into his mouth, therefore exceeding the limit of sugar intake for at least three next days, he was glad to see that the mystery of the origin of his favourite body wash was uncovered.

It was just another one of those things that Harry just _remembered_. It was a few weeks since Louis let it slip that he was not able to locate the brand of shower gel he used at Harry’s after he ran out of the last bit he might have transferred into travel-sized bottles and stolen from the shower; hell, it was long enough that even he managed to forget about the case altogether, giving up on ever repurchasing that product even though he liked how it made his skin smell like cologne instead of soap.

The dumbest thing he’s ever done was actually googling the name he thought he remembered seeing on the bottle and even if he was not one hundred percent accurate, he was close enough for the product to pop up, several listings on e-bay available for purchase. But then, his dreams of that particular body wash, no matter how stupid, were thrown out of the window when he saw the price, that he was just not able to justify, especially not the part where he would have to pay for the shipping of fucking soap.

So, with all his hopes and dreams crushed, he grabbed a bottle of his usual Old Spice that did not smell nearly as good as it did before, the foam not nearly as thick and lush as the one his previous gel was producing; the faint scent, still somewhat present in his memory, fading out with every next shower until the echo of it completely disappeared, therefore concluding the body wash saga he would be too embarrassed to ever bring up around anybody that wasn't Harry. Or at least he thought it was the last of it, seeing the gift set containing two bottles and a candle (A FUCKING CANDLE), he thanked himself for going on the rant when he did that.

“They have shampoo too.” The boy nodded into the direction of the box, an elegant bow in the same, exact shade of grey as the rest of the ensemble, almost pulling a scoff out of the writer. It was just so ridiculously pretentious for a bottle of soap, but then, he couldn't make fun of it and then continue to use it, could he?

Still, that was a violation of the unsaid law that they both knew was in effect for a while now. Harry was not supposed to get him _anything._ If he ever paid for the food they ate together, Louis was the one paying next time, if he happened to buy something for him while at the store, he was immediately reimbursed and even though the insignificant transfers that were made for as little as a Snickers bar, must’ve looked comical in comparison with what Louis could only imagine were the usual amounts the boy was operating, he always made sure they were fair and square. “You shouldn’t have.” A meaningful look was thrown at Harry, whose expression only said that he was expecting the resistance.

"Well, I wanted to." The boy was trying to cut further arguments, but it was unlikely that Louis would give up quite this soon. "It was on sale." His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he saw that this approach did not work as well. “I never bought it for you, just to put in the guest bathroom like a good host I am.”

The excuse was stupid, both of them knew it was, but Harry was already untying the bow and throwing it back on the table. "There are perfectly fine bottles of soap and shampoo in the guest bathroom." Louis argued, even if he wasn't particularly keen on the scent of the current set, he was forced to use. Still, he was far from having any grounds to complain. First, he'd have to spend a night in his bedroom, the situation yet to come after he spent the first one on the couch, the other with Harry.

It seemed to be the end of the argument that hasn't had a chance of escalating into something bigger, not that Louis' would go as far as arguing over a bottle of soap but still. Harry scrunched the packaging in a ball and tossed it on the floor next to the couch, looking at Louis who already decided that he was not going to use the gift, no matter how tempting it will look on the shelf.

Of course, that was absolutely bratty of him to do, but he was too old to change his ways, fuck it, he could be bratty from time to time. He could only hope that the gift wasn't prompted by last night's performance because a) it was too close to prostitution for his liking, b) he would have to be pretty lousy rent boy to sell his ass for a bottle of soap. All there was left for him to do was to hope that it was a coincidence rather than a hint that he should take better care of his hygiene. _Okay,_ fair enough, he was far from squeaky clean after a whole day of being a tourist but then, so was Harry. He couldn’t have stunk that bad, could he?

He was ready to leave that thought to rot in the back of his head, eating him away as he worried about the issue, but the decision was made without his knowledge, he just found himself speaking out of nowhere. "A shower set seems kind of low for a whore, doesn't it?" He chuckled at his own words, only then realizing how stupid he sounded.

“What?!” Harry’s eyes widened to preposterous sizes, a genuine surprise shining in the green, eyebrows drawn together, looking like he really had no idea what his friend was talking about.

Lou would’ve lied if he told that he was not the tiniest bit reassured with the shock on the singer’s face. Having his doubts pushed back, he decided to make a joke out of the situation and _maybe_ , just maybe, tease the brunette just a bit. "Nothing, just seems convenient that you're giving me soap immediately after we've slept together." Fingertips tapped his chin, the fake, pensive demeanour further elevating his act. "Might as well have told me I stink." There was this feeling that he could've only described as something in the shape of relief when he found himself bringing up last night so casually. From the get-go, he was quite sure that this would be the case, but there was still just a bit of weight lifted off his shoulders when his psyche did not surprise him with some stupid reluctance to bring up the topic that could have easily been awkward.

Styles’ eyes closed for a beat, the boy visibly counting to three under his breath before he lazily lifted his eyelids only to expose the most frustrated gaze Louis had ever seen. “God, you’re the worst.” Were the only words that left brunette’s lips, the corners of which twitching just slightly before he regained control over his muscles, the barely detectable pinch enough to bring peace to a man who _knew_ the singer wasn't serious, but he was glad to have the reassurance.

"Oh wow." Tomlinson, being himself, couldn't really let the opportunity slip away from him. Arms crossed on his chest, eyes throwing a disappointed gaze. "First I'm gorgeous, then I stink, and I am the worst. Now I see…" His head started shaking somewhere in the middle of the sentence, a smirk creeping its way on his lips as he saw the roll of the green eyes opposite of him, dead giveaway that his act was working, drama club Louis from fifteen years ago would’ve been proud.

“Oh my god.” A whisper broke out, barely detectable where the second guy was sitting. “I am done with this conversation, these…” Index finger pointed at two, grey bottles standing on the coffee table. “Will be in your shower, do whatever you want with that information.” A venomous smile bent his lips before his face went blank. “What you’ve been up to?” The subject was quickly changed, giving Louis no opportunity to continue being annoying.

Well, that was not exactly true. There was really nothing that could've stopped the writer from being irritating if he really wanted to be exactly that. Years of experience, at this point, provided him with the sacred knowledge of steering any conversation into the lane he could use to tease the second side of the chat.

He was done with that though, too tired with not doing anything at all to continue. "I was very productive as you can see, so busy… you wouldn't have an idea of how that feels." His head nodded for a bit before he picked the answer where he left off. "I might have spent six hours in bed watching _Rick and Morty._ ” His act of being a man on the mission exposed by himself when he realized that there was really no point in lying, especially that he was using Harry’s Netflix account, the recent activity on which, quickly uncovering his secret to whoever willing to check it. “Then I got this…” The sound face grimaced just a bit when he showed his friend the book he borrowed. “And patted myself on the back because _see…_ ” Louis cocked his eyebrows to look as overly confident as he could. “You’re not the only famous one, someone had just hit a hundred thousand followers on Twitter.” Both of his index fingers pointed at his face, doing a good job of looking like it belonged to an absolute twat, which might not be that far from the truth.

There seemed to be a true eyes-rolling festival in Harry’s world, the reaction very much overused that particular night. “Congratulations.” His tone was gravely serious for such an occasion, especially that it was just a joke. “See, I obviously knew that, hence the gift… that’s a milestone if I’ve ever seen one.” The boy lied, using that stupid coincidence as an excuse.

For Louis, the followers he acquired throughout the course of his friendship with Harry, the numbers growing rapidly since the two of them started being seen in each other’s company, were just a bunch of bullshit. Honestly, how important could those be for a man with hardly any social media presence? He could’ve been seen there only on the rarest occasions, abstaining from that particular branch of showbusiness when he was not working on a book. He was far from the douche that would get excited over a bunch of teenagers following him only because he happens to be working with their idol.

The reminiscing about his day had brought him a question that escaped for a second. “Do you know where my phone is?” 

“No, why would I?” Harry shrugged, his eyes hung on the book resting on Lou’s lap, partially hidden behind the box of cereal for which the man was reaching sporadically.

Why would he? Well, _maybe_ because it wasn’t exactly Louis who undressed himself last night, was it? The answer did not satisfy him in the slightest, his mind filling with worry at the thought of losing the mobile he was given by Jeff, the one that he might have switched with his private one because it was simply better than his own one with its scratched up exterior that he should’ve upgraded two generations ago. 

It wasn't exactly Jeff's possession he was worried about, his mind already set on never returning the devices that came with his job and quite frankly, he doubted that his boss would even care enough to get them back. While he was pretty sure that there was nothing on his phone that could've exposed his identity if somebody was to break the complicated password he set in order to protect Harry's privacy more than his own, he still did not want to risk it. Of course, he wasn't dumb enough to have the singer saved under his real name, but there was just the slightest prickle of worry in the back of his head.

“Ring it.” Styles’ phone landed in his lap, already unlocked for him to knock himself out. It was embarrassing that he hasn’t thought about it himself, he was pretty sure he could’ve done it from his laptop but then… he was far from thinking straight that day, give him a break. 

Quickly locating himself in the extensive list of Harry's contact book, the names he was swiping through, filling him with irrational thought that he was not even worthy of being the part of the same group. He clicked on his number, and the call started, the two of them growing silent as Louis' temperature spiked upon seeing the contact photo Styles chose to use for his number.

The faint sound of the default ringtone grew progressively louder, exposing the device's location that proved to be in between cushions of the very sofa they were sitting, and earlier making out on. He could not believe that he hasn't thought to check here, but then, it was already established that he wasn't exactly the embodiment of logic, not that day, not ever.

“Would you care to explain this?” An irritated gaze was thrown at Harry who started chuckling, as he already forgot about the picture of six-year-old Louis with a bowl cut, silly, red glasses and his front teeth missing that he had assigned to the man’s contact after sneakily snapping a pic of a mug with that particular print. 

The laughing did not stop him from being attentive enough to snatch his phone back before Louis could finish the task of getting rid of the embarrassing picture he already was on. "I hate you." The writer growled through his teeth, cheeks flushing pink at the thought of that stupid picture immortalized on Harry's mobile, secretly cursing his mother out since she was the one responsible for this mess. "I wonder what pops up if I google your worst photo."

"Worst? I highly doubt that this is the worst…" He had no way of knowing that but yeah, he was right. Louis still cringed at the thought of awkward photoshoots he used to have with his pals, proudly flexing their scrawny, bare chests. "Have at it though, although the baby pics are where it's at. I was a cute little angel, you have no idea." The singer boasted for a bit, but Louis did have an idea, seeing a whole gallery of Styles' childhood photos, hung on the walls of his mother's home, some of which saved on his cloud, sent by Anne who scanned some for him, very excited about Harry's baby pics being included in the book.

“I’m going upstairs, gonna call my mum from the future.” Tomlinson used the first excuse he could get. While he had no intention of avoiding his friend before, the stupid picture had brought his mood down quite a few notches, the small needles of embarrassment still prickling at his reddened cheeks. “Goodnight.” He threw as he started climbing the stairs, taking the box of cereal with himself to enjoy since he just knew that there was no way he would be going to sleep anytime soon.


	17. Chapter 17

Bumps of the uneven terrain were softened by the suspension of the heavy-duty bike he was riding, shielding his bum from being too beaten-up from Harry’s reckless driving, which he was forced to follow, too scared to make the slightest change in the route, the threat of getting lost still very much present in his head.

The sun was setting, sky coloured with the brightest shade of orange out there, clouds bringing some variation to the stretch of the hue. It was beautiful out, there was no denying that, and while he wouldn't mind being outside, observing how the sun makes its way out, he was stuck in the worst possible position to do that from, eyes forced to stay level since getting distracted put him in risk of losing his life.

He was happy to observe that Harry jumped off his bike, it’s ridiculous, pastel frame gently set on the grass of the park they’ve been crossing for a while now, Louis following the lead, falling on the green stretch himself with a loud grunt of discontentment.

It was the fifth morning of their Japan adventure when he finally got frustrated with constant questions about the state of his leg and admitted that it was, in fact, fine. Let’s just say that it had been fine for a while before he said that it was but the vision of another day of being dragged over Tokyo’s best spots made him keep that information to himself.

Well, he should have continued with the act, maybe even fake another cramp that would put him out of business for a few more days. At first, the question seemed insignificant, the boy leaving maybe ten minutes after he learned of the revelation. Louis went back to his usual bullshit that now happened to be doing some more research on law forums, not taking up his brain capacity with the seemingly meaningless leg debacle.

He came to regret the confession as soon as Harry came back after a few hours at the studio, announcing that they were going to have a little bike trip around the neighbourhood and while Tomlinson wasn’t enthusiastic at all, he remained just mildly bothered, considering that the ride was going to be (the keyword), _short._

Of course, knowing the partner of his journey, he could’ve predicted that Harry’s and his definitions of a **short** bike ride varied significantly. Louis’ five miles, and that was already with him being generous, tripled with the fifteen they’ve done already, still nowhere near being home.

Long story short, he was exhausted, his calves stinging from the strain he put on them while pedalling, stomach filled with a handful too many insects he managed to swallow along the ride and now, he was pretty fucking sure there were some fuckers crawling up his legs, but frankly, he couldn't care less, not right now.

His head was partially buried in the grass, eyes throwing thunders at his friend who looked cheerful as ever, just as if he was having a peaceful walk not speeding through the streets of Tokyo, a very difficult setting to even ride a bike in, not to mention racing like a mad man. His knee was drawn to his chest, hands embracing the calf as he propped his head on the construction.

In his mind, he had all the reasons to be mad at his friend. First one, being the absolute lack of consideration for the fact that Louis was _significantly_ less agile than Harry was, not really a mystery from the first time Tomlinson was coerced into accompanying the boy's workout. The discrepancies in their definitions of a short ride could be blamed on the misunderstanding, but now, he full-on blamed Harry for that as well.

“Set me up with a nice plate or something, I am not getting up from here.” Louis, being his dramatic self, announced that this particular grassy patch will be his resting place. “I hate you for doing this to me.” It might have been the tenth time he told that in the span of the ride, still not even close to being the last one. 

Styles didn't seem to even hear his words, eyes plastered to the sky as he observed the orange fading into navy blue. Only gulps of water he took giving away that he might have been just the tiniest bit affected by the workout.

Louis was still laying on the grass, eyes closed even though it was the worst idea at the moment, his eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. His silhouette jerked in surprise when he felt something on his ankle, trying to get rid of an abnormally large bug that was no bug at all, just Harry getting rid of an actual insect. "Tired?" His expression irritatingly cocky from where he looked over his shoulder at his friend, offering him the bottle of water which the writer denied, too lazy to even prop himself on his elbow to take a sip. "We could switch the bikes, you know."

 _Yes,_ he knew. Of course, he did, Styles not letting him forget about the fact. There was no chance he'd be giving up the vehicle he fought so fiercely for before he's learned its true nature. Still, this ridiculous piece of equipment that he could only describe as a bike version of a monster truck, purposefully personalized to get the most out of every workout, which in reality meant that it took a lot of force to push the pedals, was a way better option than the dainty, pastel-coloured city bike that looked like a supersized version of kid's bike sans the fringe hanging off the handlebar, the colourful beads on the spokes included, clicking cheerily with every turn of the wheels. Louis might have insulted Harry's friend, from whom the boy borrowed the bike, but the woman was not there to hear his snarky comments, so, it wasn't important.

The fight he had put up, stubbornly refusing to even entertain the idea of him riding the pastel bike was concluded with some remark about his fragile masculinity but to be completely honest, he couldn't care less. If choosing not to drive a supersized version of a little girl's bike through the entire city meant having a fragile sense of masculinity, so be it. Acknowledging the fact was way less difficult than enduring the merciless teasing he'd have to face if the pictures of him on that godawful bike surfaced on the internet for his pals to see, and with him constantly being in Harry's presence, it was hard to know when he was going to be included in a news handle and blown over the whole of Twitter by fans who literally marvelled over every single thing Styles ever did.

"Hello there." Styles peeked from under the cover he pulled onto his nude body after he was left alone, much to his disappointment; Louis slipping out of bed, insisting that he needed a shower, immediately.

To be fair, they both needed one. The bike ride alone was enough to get them disgusting, mostly with the dust that stuck to every piece of exposed skin, creating a thick layer and now, that they’ve sweat what it felt like pools into the sheets, there was no denying that both were overdue for a shower, only Louis caring enough to actually get one.

The events of the evening that led them to Harry’s bedroom for the second time were somewhat unclear, the whole encounter a blur in Louis’ head, a glorious one at that. Saying that he was happy about the outcome of the ride, the irritation he felt with the brunette now fully disappeared, would’ve been an understatement. Let’s just say that the boy had redeemed himself greatly, thankfully having enough stamina to endure some more exercise since that couldn’t be really said about the other guy.

Harry was getting ready to fall asleep, fully at peace with the thought that he's going to spend the night by himself after his friend disappeared quickly after the conclusion that brought them both even more satisfaction than previously since now they were significantly less clueless about what got them going. "Come here." The brunette patted the space in front of him, and sure enough, Louis took it, laying on his side, slipping the covers off the brunette, so he had a chance to look at Harry in his post-coital haze, skin riddled with red patches of heat that were reluctant to leave his body.

“This was nice…” Harry smiled coyly, eyes travelling to Lou’s fingers that started tracing the tattoos on his dewy chest.

There was no need to say that Louis agreed with the statement, more than agreed with it, to be honest. Nothing was left to say after rave reviews his body gave upon climaxing, he still felt his muscles twitching around nothing, too tired to instigate another round that might have crossed his mind. "Should've done this earlier." An airy chuckle shook his body at the thought of how much more fun their nights in the tour bus would've been if they hooked up earlier, the idea of sleeping in Harry's bed instead of his coffin further supporting the claim. "Sorry for being so lazy." He felt like apologizing for his poor performance, trying to convey the message that despite what Harry had a chance of experiencing, his sluggish moves were not something usual, hopefully keeping the brunette's interest in repeating the encounter, so he has a chance to redeem himself after the two times that fell on very inconvenient moments.

Harry only chuckled, his chest trembling under Lou’s fingers. It was dark around them, the air heavy with the mix of pheromones hovering around the room. Somehow, in this darkness, the whole thing did not feel like it was even real, maybe because it shouldn’t have been. The tender attention they gave to each other very different from the casual bickering they engaged in on the daily. Louis liked this side of Harry, as much as he was never a really big fan of cuddles, he didn’t mind having a hand wrapped around him right now, even if it was just slightly uncomfortable that way. 

“If that’s what you’re apologizing for, I cannot wait for the full experience.” The boy murmured, finally showing any signs of exhaustion that should’ve caught up with him hours ago but didn’t. “Lazy is fine, I can’t feel my legs though, anything really.” His hand reached up and disappeared in the damp, caramel-coloured strands atop his lover’s head, fingertips caressing the scalp, his eyes stuck to the blue opposite him, smiling.

“You’re sure it wasn’t the bike? I’m pretty sure it was that.” The smallest pinch of resentment, still with him after the godawful ride he could feel in his calves, carried in Louis’ voice, raspier than usual with the strain he put on his throat not that long ago. 

“We’ve barely left the house, it was most definitely the shag.” A derisive scoff broke the silence between the two. Harry’s silhouette shifted, the sheets twisting around his aching legs. Almost mindlessly, he set his head on Louis’ chest, listening to the intricate machine that maintained the man’s body functions.

This time it was Tomlinson who scoffed, their linked bodies jerking with every wave of chuckle that emerged from his gut. “A _shag_?” The airy laugher hasn’t ceased. “Who are you, Bridget Jones?” It was the second the words left his lips that he knew he had fucked up.

 _Yes,_ maybe he had an embarrassing amount of hours spent watching chick flicks under his belt, most definitely more than he would ever be ready to admit but the reason behind that revelation was far different than the adoration for that particular genre, there was none of that in him now, nor there was ever before.

Sharing one TV with a mother who was single for the bigger part of her life was the situation he had to get used to. Still, he was quite lucky with the gift of being annoying to the point of persuading the woman to let him take the remote, most of the times at least. There were some exceptions though, Bridget Jones was one of them, just as some other flicks that were big in his mother’s repertoire but not quite as huge as that particular one.

So, with nothing better to do, he found himself watching the series at least once a year, sometimes even more often since the damn thing seemed to be on the telly every week. The desire to explain himself was not there though, he wanted the topic to be over immediately, so, he shut his mouth and slowed down his breathing, trying to make it seem like he was dozing off, didn’t matter that he was far from actually doing that.

He didn't get a lot of time to enjoy the peace before Harry shifted on him, the eyes which green was fully devoured by darkness, stuck to his face. "Oh no, no… no. Don't think I'll let you get away with that!" The joy in his voice clearly gave away that he enjoyed the moment thoroughly, and Louis couldn't blame him. He had it coming after countless times he teased his friend for his borderline rom-com obsession. Maybe obsession was a big word, but the boy knew his rom coms, too many for a normal person, at least that's what the writer thought. "Did little Louis have naughty thoughts about Mark Darcy?"

Louis was sure he saw the smirk stretched on Harry’s face as the boy reached his hand and collided a fingertip with the tip of his nose, the gesture that could’ve been somewhat adorable if it wasn’t for the condescending tone that tainted it. “This loser? Absolutely not.” Every single unit of energy he had left in his body was assigned to the task of denying any allegations Harry was yet to throw his way.

No other claims came after that though, only the juiciest sneer he's ever heard from the brunette. "Of course, you were the freak with a crush on Cleaver." There was no way he would've seen the eye roll, but he assumed that there was one.

“A crush?” His head shook vigorously, hair ruffled against the silky pillow. “I wanted to be that guy!” Only when the words fell off his lips, he realized that maybe it wasn’t a matter to pride himself in. “No worries, you have mister missionary all to yourself.”

“You’re saying it as if it’s a bad thing.” Supple lips were pressed to the pasty skin of the writer’s chest, small kisses lazily laid where Harry could reach. “Missionary can be fun at times, you know?” Barely whisper clashed with Lou’s chest, the words like a shiver travelling straight down where they’ve settled in his spent cock.

“Of course, you would say that, mister vanilla no sprinkles.” Maybe making fun of Harry’s preferences wasn’t really appropriate after half-assing both of their intercourses but he just couldn’t resist. 

A small scowl seeped through the older one’s nostrils when he felt teeth nibbling at the nub of his nipple, slick tongue mending the skin immediately. “You’ve used the soap.” The brunette marvelled over the scent of the shower gel that Louis had, in fact, used, not putting too big of a fight after being so reluctant at first. “You wear it so well.” Another compliment settled in a mist on his skin, swollen lips peppering his chest with the smallest pecks. 

Nothing has been said after that, neither really knowing what was there to say. Instead of occupying one another with meaningless pillow talk, they were enjoying each other’s company, gifting tender touches that met with soft hums of contentment from time to time.

It was dark and hot in the bedroom, their bodies exposed to the heavy air brought by the swelter that took over the Island ever since they’ve arrived. Harry’s breaths grew so sound that there was a thought in Louis’ mind that he fell asleep, not that he would mind getting through the night just like that, even if Harry’s hair tickled his nostrils with every inhale.

“Louis?” The whisper barely broke the silence between the two as the boy made sure his friend wasn’t asleep before he properly started speaking. A brief hum he got in response enough to know that the man below him was still awake. “How long have you been alone?” 

The question surprised Tomlinson. That was not usually the matter he would expect to be addressed in a situation quite like this, casual sex never really brought heartfelt conversations after the conclusion, although they often went that route either way so he should've expected it. "As in how long I haven't had sex?" He questioned to make sure he read the intention of Harry's inquiry correctly. _Fuck_ , was he really that bad that Styles needed to ask, possibly trying to find an excuse for the lacklustre performance?

“No.” A fingernail traced random shapes on Lou’s chest as the boy watched the skin get the smallest bit flushed only to go back to normal immediately. “Since you’ve been in love.”

Oh… _fuck._ So now was the time when he was going to get exposed as a heartless creature from hell that he wasn’t even sure he wasn’t, not anymore. “I…” Making pros and cons list that would tell him whether he should tell the truth or not hasn’t yielded any results other than the few seconds he’s been given to consider. “I don’t think I have ever been in love.” Honesty seemed to be the best approach, especially that he never really lied to Harry if it wasn’t necessary. 

“What do you mean?” Amusement in the boy’s voice made it seem that perhaps honesty wasn’t the best policy in that particular matter. “You’re what… thirty? And you haven’t been in a relationship?” The singer clearly had a hard time believing that claim.

“Fifty.” Louis might have been just the tiniest bit insulted with the two years that were added to his actual age, although more of that annoyance was surfacing from the fact that he felt stupid, humiliated even; as if he was emotionally impotent, the realization that it was very likely the case, only further ruining his mood. “I was in relationships.” He corrected his friend, eager to provide at least some evidence that he wasn’t a freak. 

“What’s relationship without love?” The thumb was grazing the side of Lou’s ribcage, giving some peace of mind to the writer who thought he’s currently working on a lifetime badge of grade-a, barmy twat. 

"I think you would know the answer to that." His words came off more pointed than he intended them to be, which was not pointed at all. Of course, it was not fair to compare his lack of emotional capability with Harry's situation, but on the other hand, everything in him tried to push the topic away from himself. "I'm sorry." The apology left his lips immediately after he realized that it was a low blow.

“I was in love before, you know?” Harry confessed, a deep sigh chasing his words. “You’re the weird one.” Heavy atmosphere loosened a bit with the accusation, no intention of diving deeper into Styles’ past romantic endeavours in sight.

“How do relationships work with your career?” A genuine interest prompted the question. “Off the record.” He reassured, although it was pretty fucking obvious that the whole evening was off the record, he was not exactly planning on composing poetry about Harry’s genitals or the taste of his come, not that his fans would have anything against reading that. 

“They don’t.” The boy shrugged, not elaborating any further.

“So what? You’re going to be stuck in that till you die?” It was not the first time Louis wondered about that particular issue, the first time courageous enough to ask the boy in question. 

"God, I hope not." The thought itself was terrifying to Tomlinson, and he wasn't even affected by the arranged caricatures of relationships Harry was shifting between. "It's not exactly easy, you know?"

“I do not.” There was no point pretending that he did. His emotional ineptness nothing in comparison with what the boy on his chest was going through. “Neither should you.” The heavy sigh he pushed out of his lungs concluded the conversation, filling the air with another layer of complexity, the innocent solicitude Louis voiced would’ve been something he’d be ashamed of if the moment hasn’t felt so disconnected from reality.

To some extent, it was. Both of them aware of how ephemeral the moment was, gone as soon as they wake up the next day, back on their usual bullshit of effortless banter, heavily spiced with teasing and without a trace of any emotional talks, at least as long as they’re sober, which they were surprisingly often lately.

The border between the reality and dream realm started becoming a blur not long after the guys stopped talking, Harry already very obviously asleep on Louis’ chest that raised ever so slightly as he tried to keep his breathing sound for the sake of the boy, his hand wrapped around the brunette, fingertips slowly caressing his soft shoulder. 

Possibility of falling asleep was already in his reach when an unexpected noise broke out on the nightstand, startling the shit out of him from where he might have been counting Harry’s puffs to put himself to sleep. His hand darted to the mobile that lit up, violently vibrating on the mahogany surface it was resting on. 

Harry stirred on his chest, nails scratching Lou’s skin delicately before he resumed caressing it, the older man staring furiously at the screen of his phone, the worry he was filled with as soon as his phone buzzed, thinking that there might have been some emergency since nobody in their right mind would’ve called at this time, evaporated immediately, replaced by the most potent exasperation he felt in a while when he saw Jeff’s name displayed for him to see, eyes squinting from the strain the light has put on his retinas that already got used to the darkness.

He was right, nobody in their right mind would ever call at such a time. The thing was, Jeff Azoff was far from sane. "Have you completely lost the plot? You have any idea what time it is?!" His voice pointed as much as he could get it to sound without raising it, his thick accent making a cameo just like it always did when he was pissed. Of course, Harry was not asleep anymore, but there was a chance he'd drift off soon so, he chose to keep quiet.

“You weren’t picking up earlier.” The man explained as if it was any justification for the atrocious timing. Maybe it wasn’t often that the two of them talked, Louis insisting that everything could be settled with an email, but he knew that in Jeff’s world there was not really too much time to be considerate and logical. 

“That’s why you’ve felt like it’s appropriate to call me at three in the fucking morning? Have you missed the class on time zones?” Ending the call with throwing the device started seeming like a great idea at the moment, only the last fuck he gave about the job keeping him from doing exactly that. “What do you want?” He urged when the man on the other side hasn’t reacted to his outburst.

“Is Harry home?” The boss asked, unaffected by his employee’s hostile attitude. WHAT?! This was the pressing matter?

“Yes.” Louis drawled through his teeth, making up a list of viable ways to get rid of that man, perhaps permanently. Taking one for the team and landing himself in prison hasn’t seemed nearly as bad at the moment.

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes.” Another drawl. Of course, he was fucking sure, feeling the boy’s fingertips on his skin didn’t leave a lot of space for uncertainty. “Should I get up and go to his bedroom so you can hear his snoring or is it everything?” He started wondering whether Harry and Jeff were close enough for Azoff to be aware that his client snored. 

"How's the book coming along?" The leisurely tone of the manager's voice started adding to the pile of things pissing him off.

“Fine.” 

“Any samples coming my way soon?” 

"Of course." He pushed himself to sound like the good employee that he wasn't. "Call me at this hour again, and I'll report you, this has to count for some kind of mobbing." His irritation disappearing the second, he ended the call and tossed the phone to his side.

“What did he want?” Harry whispered after Louis had a second to calm himself down, the process far easier with fingers still tracing shapes on his skin. It was kind of sad how the boy wasn’t even surprised by the time their mutual ‘friend’ called Louis.

“He was asking if you’re home.” The matter of their brief chat was still a mystery to him. Why would it be important to the point where Azoff would decide to call Louis and ask about it. Why wouldn’t he call Harry himself? “Why is it so important if you’re home?” He asked the question after not receiving anything back from Harry.

"I don't want to think about it right now." The answer cleared nothing at all, but Louis didn't have the heart to press the boy any further. He decided to do that later, it was too late for talking anyway.

-

“John? That’s a fake name! I cannot believe you’ve made up your first boyfriend.” Louis accused with a derisive smirk on his face, observing Harry carefully as he took his t-shirt off, throwing it onto the couch as he disappeared in the kitchen from which he still could be seen.

Harry had no time for entertaining Louis' stupid claims, the memory of his first boyfriend very much pure, and he wanted to leave it untouched. "Isn't one of your friends named John?" A loud commotion broke out near the sink when a bowl slipped from his clumsy fingers.

The older man waited for his friend to get back before he spoke again. Harry sat next to him, a sheet of paper in his hands still looked absolutely huge, even held in palms that were enormous in themselves. A furrow in brunette’s eyebrows made it seem like he was extremely focused on studying the instructions after he finally landed on the section written in English. Considering the seriousness of their endeavour, it was better if he did.

Louis, being his annoying self, slid his head onto his friend's lap, gazing at him, still acting like he's sceptical about the story of the first boyfriend. "Yes, exactly." His head nodded as much as it was able to. "That's why I know it's fake. It's time to come clean about that, actually…" A sigh escaped his nostrils as he swallowed hard. "I actually have no friends. These blokes from the show? Actors I got from Gumtree." Another sigh, lips pressed in a tight line, eyes drifting somewhere even though Harry had no intention to look at him right now.

After he was done with the instructions, the boy moulded the thin paper into a ball and tossed it to the side, only then letting his eyes drop. “Yeah, I figured.” The oh-so-believable confession was acknowledged with a nod. “Nobody in their right mind would want to be your friend.” Only one side of his lips twitched, still enough to fully throw his act out of the window. His posture grew even more preposterous as he leaned down, pressing his lips to the tip of his friend’s nose. 

Neither of them was really aware of what actually happened between them during that night after they've slept together for the second time. Louis was ready for the tenderness to disappear the second Harry comes back from wherever he wandered before he had the chance to wake up, his expectations exceeded significantly when the boy came back with a breakfast spread that might as well have been a picture from some culinary digest.

What was the most important, though, was the fact that the touches haven't ceased, not completely. It was foreign for them to act like that towards each other and even if it felt weird at first, slowly but surely, they were pushing through the initial shyness, disregarding the boundaries they've set unknowingly, getting more accustomed to things like a spontaneous kiss here and there, just a chaste gesture of affection, not a prelude to intercourse.

It was almost as nice as sex that started being somewhat regular, no actual arrangement binding the two, just their mutual want for each other that only grew stronger as the days went by and they got comfortable around each other, letting all the walls they were sheltering themselves behind shatter, ridding their friendship of any trace of pretence that might have been lingering somewhere in the shadows.

Hidden in the peaceful confinement of Harry’s house, they were allowed to let their guards down, just enjoy each other’s company and be fools they were around each other before they were to go outside and pretend that there’s nothing between them other than the professional acquaintance that started the whole thing off.

Louis doubted that this was even possible but the boy he knew already proved himself to be even more distracting once he reached the ultimate state of comfortable, making meeting the deadlines the writer had set for himself progressively harder and while that wasn't really a nightmare, no actual commitment between him and the coordinator of his work, who also happened to be him, there was going to be a time when the new boss was going to take matters into his own hands, most likely not nearly as lenient as the current one.

Busy with all the wrong things, Louis struggled through his work, producing outlines of chapters he was yet to write, hopefully when Harry’s not there to distract him, whether it was during the frequent trips to the studio he was taking, the separation that was given to increase as the tour kicks off again or when their ways inevitably part for good, leaving the writer with an actual deadline he was sure he could meet if only he doesn’t get stuck in a block, for the lack of which he couldn’t really vouch.

“Don’t get me wrong but I really think there’s a bunch of other ways we could see if you could pull off blonde before actually ruining your hair.” A grimace deformed his face as he was looking at the ceramic bowl he was holding in his hand, filled with thick, blueish mass, its potent stench prickling the insides of his nostrils. He knew damn well that this was a **horrible** idea, it was not him who came up with it in the first place.

Harry looked mildly bored when he was sitting on the dining chair, waiting out his friend's obvious stalling; his chest bare, the only piece of clothing a scrap of fabric of his boxers after he made a case that undressing was better than finding a way to protect his clothes from the bleach that felt absurdly heavy in Lou's hands, most of the weight coming from the threat of completely frying the hair it was going to be put into. The odds were most definitely not in their favour, he vividly remembered the fiasco of his first experience in bleaching hair, almost fifteen years ago. He was sure that his skill set hadn't improved from when his school friend insisted that he needed to go platinum over the course of one evening, preferably not exceeding the ten quid limit.

“You’re the one who asked about my bucket list.” The boy shrugged, brushing his beautiful, brunette hair back with spread fingers. His gaze was filled with determination, completely ignoring the absolute terror in the set of eyes looking back at him.

“I was expecting skydiving, not this!” Even he was surprised with the hysteric note that settled in his voice, the pitch of which even higher when the list of things that could postpone the moment bleach ruins Styles’ hair was slowly getting shorter and shorter. 

He simply could not follow through with that, he really couldn't. Ruining Harry's hair was one thing, it was just hair, worst case scenario they would chop it all off and wait till it grows out, but then, there was quite a serious threat of the trouble he was going to get himself into once it gets out that he was an accessory to this horrid crime against Harry's physique and let's just say that it wasn't completely outlandish to assume that they were the only two idiots capable of coming up with such a plan. But the thing was, Styles was that idiot, Louis tried to do everything in his power to stop the tragedy while he still could.

A beat had passed before Harry cocked his head to the side, the chair he was seated in swaying backwards just a bit as he rocked on the back two legs. “And you’d skydive with me?” The scoff clearly showed that the boy had a hard time believing in the unsaid claim.

Of course, Louis would never do that, far from daredevil insane enough to go to such extent in search of adrenaline high. That time though, it was better to keep this to himself. "Anything but this." His head eagerly nodded, reassuring the singer that he would, in fact, throw himself off a plane rather than put the contents of the bowl he was holding into his friend's hair. "I cannot do that, oh God, what were you thinking?" He whispered under his breath.

Before Harry had a chance to register what was happening, Louis was already on his way to the kitchen, running faster than he ever ran, dumping the contents of the bowl into the sink and even if the solution was short-lived, another box of bleach easily obtainable as soon as the businesses open in the morning, he really hoped that his desperation was enough to draw the boy away from that stupid idea or at least make him reconsider.

“Sorry.” Louis tried to play coy in front of his friend as he was pushed against the ledge of the counter, trapped, with nowhere to go. It was obvious that he regretted nothing, a huge load off his shoulders when the chemical stench started airing out, progressively less potent with every second. “I just couldn’t, I love your hair too much.” The explanation seemed to have struck something in the boy who stood right in front of the smaller man, blocking off any escape route he might have had before. 

Harry’s blank face gave way, his lips curving upwards, the grin deepening when he felt fingers burying in his overgrown locks, grazing the nape of his neck before the writer fully submerged them, standing on his tippy-toes. “Should’ve just told me that.” The brunette murmured softly, their lips separated by mere inches until the distance was closed, a kiss on the border between heated and pure placed on Lou’s thinner lips. 

The innocence vanishing when the older one jumped onto the counter, pulling his lover closer with legs he clasped around him, the kiss getting deeper, slender fingers eager to touch, resting on Louis’ jawline, pulling him closer as if it was physically possible. “Who would’ve thought you were so persuasive.” Harry’s words pulling a chuckle from the shorter one, teeth sinking into the bottom lip of his friend.


	18. Chapter 18

"You should go." Harry insisted for what it felt like the hundredth time since they woke up, gently brushing spread fingers through Louis' hair, comforting the man in distress as he worked on solutions in his head, a grimace deepening on his face when it turned out that he doesn't have that much of those at all. "Is there anything I can do?" Louis was done with the question that popped up whenever they even remotely neared the topic of his mother.

Of course, Harry’s willingness to help was hardly a reason for Louis to get irritated over but now, with his life completely falling apart, he was pretty much seeking matters to nitpick on, striving to get rid of the pressure building up in his chest from the moment the call had woken them both up in the middle of the night. With every passing hour, he struggled to breathe even more, stress eating his lungs up to the point when he could barely consume any oxygen at all.

Basically, he was in the constant state of a panic attack, although he couldn't have known how one of those would feel like since his life wasn't exactly riddled with stress, at least not until recently. He's done some googling though, even if the doctors usually tell people not to and there was an alarming number of his symptoms that matched the description. The conclusion kind of made itself, although he was not going to share that information with his companion.

He knew Styles had plans for the day, ones that he cancelled solely for the sake of making sure his friend was alright, and even though he knew that Louis was far from fine and his presence wasn't going to do jack shit in this situation, he still wanted to be there to keep an eye on the writer and maybe persuade him into doing the one thing that was appropriate for him to do, no matter how many reasons not to, he stumbled upon during his thought process. 

The night started melting into the morning, the two of them entwined on the mattress, the covers kicked off to the floor since the swelter gave them a particularly hard time with the temperature, that in combination with the humidity was suffocating them, air conditioning helping none of the air's heaviness since the system failed them in the worst suitable moment. The repair still in the future, without a possibility of any priority because despite Louis' persuading, Harry just refused to pull some strings, maybe even drop his name during the call, perhaps threaten somebody, although that concept might have been influenced by the heatstroke on the verge of which they both were at the time, Tomlinson way less tolerant about their horrid living conditions.

Despite insomnia, surfacing partially from the temperature pressing their exhausted silhouettes into the mattress, pulling beads of sweat out of their bodies that a step from overheating, still remained linked, even with as little as ankles crossing at the foot of the bed or fingers barely coming in contact with each other's skin. Mostly though, the two of them thrown over each other, constantly moaning, complaining about the heat (of course it was mainly Louis but that wasn't a good look for him), yet still remaining linked together in some way, drawing some comfort from the unusual positions they were shifting into over the course of the night.

That night, they’ve slept exceptionally well, considering the circumstances and even if the night felt like the hottest one yet; the judgement maybe just the slightest bit clouded from the activity they were engaging in for the bigger part of the evening, using up every last drop of energy they had stored in them after a day of running errands and exercising; or like in Louis’ case, doing absolutely nothing after excusing himself from going out with bad mood. 

They were on a good route to get a good night’s sleep, looking forward to a few more hours in bed when their plans were suddenly squandered with the ringtone that broke out as soon as the sun started rolling onto the sky again.

Being accustomed to Jeff's unusual office hours as well as they were, or more like the lack of grasp of the time zones that the man exuded numerous times already, the two of them immediately thought that it was the boss that was calling. Yes, he was threatened with being reported the last time he's done that, but Louis knew better than to believe the borderline harassing would stop there. That's why both their brains jumped straight to him. There might have been some profanity spewed between the two, even the literal angel that Harry was most of the time, joining in with his five cents before the phone was finally picked up and revealed that they were mistaken with their assumption.

All the blood seemed to have drained from Louis' body when his eyes finally focused on the screen and were able to make out a name of his godmother, his mum's best friend. Seeing that it was her who was calling him was unusual, to begin with, he couldn't even remember when was the last time he spoke with that woman, the occurrence so rare that he didn't even consider the timing of the call.

His body completely stilled, besides the hands that shook as he tried to answer the call, the darkest scenarios rushing to his head when he struggled to get the stiff fingers to answer the phone before it stopped going off.

The news was both a relief and a huge burden on him. Of course, it was his mum, just as he expected, no other explanation really made sense. And while some of the plots his brain produced on the spot were far worse than what exactly turned out to be happening, the news about his mother landing in the hospital after fainting at work wasn't exactly something he was going to be happy about.

Fuck, he was terrified. While he never really took the matters of his own health quite this seriously, his mother was a whole another story; every sneeze or insignificant cough blown out to preposterous sizes, his tendency for over exaggerating, part of the reason why his mum refused to tell him anything, pushing him to actually getting through her stuff in order to control her test results. Maybe he was annoying, but that was not only on him. He wouldn't have to if his mum told him shit. 

And now, he was losing it, as imperceptibly as he could manage, doing his best not to alarm Harry who stepped up to the occasion and tried everything to provide his friend some solace in that vulnerable state, breaking out breathing exercises and meditation techniques that as nonsensical as they sounded at first, seemed to be helping some, only when Louis tried really bad and perhaps he had problems with committing to the exercise due to the absolute scramble his brain had found itself in. 

More than anything though, Harry tried to convince him that he should pack a bag and fly home to make sure everything was fine, just as his mum told him when he finally managed to reach her. Of course, he saw through her bullshit immediately. If it was okay, nobody would’ve kept her in the hospital. And even if he was the same amount of helpless in Tokyo and back home; there, he would at least have a chance to see for himself how true were his mother’s updates. 

That scenario was quite tricky to execute, though, for various reasons. "I don't think I'm even allowed to, haven't seen any mention of leave in my contract." A puff was pushed out of his lungs, a little bouquet of insults he threw at himself in silence for something he had no power over. "What was I thinking taking this job? Fuck." He cursed under his breath, more to himself than to Harry, who still soaked his every word, gently rubbing circles on his scalp, doing everything in his power to relax his companion.

"You were thinking about providing for both of you like any good son would. You're hardly at fault for any of this." Harry's voice barely a murmur as he tried to maintain the soothing atmosphere around them. "You have to go, Louis. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't." The worry in his voice was loud and clear, increasing with every second he saw his friend descending into madness he was bound to drown in if they don't find a solution to his anxiety. There really was only one way that could ease his suffering, the basis of which not exactly in any of their power to change. But Louis, being his stubborn self, refused to even entertain the idea of abandoning post to tend to his private issues to which right he kind of renounced upon signing the contract with the devil himself.

Another shallow sigh exposed his frustration. Overwhelmed, that’s what he was; struggling for every breath, his mind racing for ideas that wouldn’t come no matter how hard he tried to summon them. Even Harry’s efforts to calm him down stopped working after who knows which hour of lying in bed that slowly started getting on his nerves with how impeccably comfortable it was, proving that he was, in fact, searching for reasons to get angry. “And what exactly should I tell Jeff? Isn’t it kind of crucial for me to be here? Especially now?” 

Louis surprised even himself with the use of an argument he knew was bullshit. Why was the timing of any significance? Well, because only a day after the call Louis received from his boss at three in the fucking morning, Harry Styles was reported to have split with his girlfriend in mysterious circumstances that were nothing more than some questionable social media activity that the fans have discovered in the archives of the girl’s profiles. The damage control machine’s gears working even before the case had a chance to blow up, immediately distancing the singer from the problematic subject.

Of course, Harry was absolutely devastated, just as one could predict him to be. His distress the reason why he needed Louis to be next to him pretty much 24/7 to document his way through the breakup, getting some vulnerability for the book. He did a pretty good job, at least when it came to not leaving Styles' side, for the most part, the absolute misery the brunette was supposed to be in a whole another case. Tomlinson would risk it and say that he hasn't seen the boy quite this happy yet, forced to wear a mask in public, not risking a grin that would ruin his heartbroken act quite quickly.

“We don’t have to tell him anything.” Louis could practically _hear_ how Harry’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “It wouldn’t be the first thing he doesn’t know about, would it?”

Louis wanted to slap himself for the smirk that crept onto his lips, the worst possible moment for exuding this innocent affection he had for the boy and if Harry's smile was bad enough, he got a free pass, considering that it was not his mother who was stuck in the hospital almost six thousand miles away from where he was.

But even though he felt truly awful, like the worst son in the history, he felt just the tiniest bit of weight lifted off his shoulders upon seeing that coy smirk, it still left him with more than he could ever lift by himself, but any help was appreciated.

And even if Harry tried to pretend that it wasn’t the case, he knew he was alone in this. Just as he was in everything, really. _Yeah_ , he had friends and everything, some of them even willing to listen to his meaningless rants that never really helped with anything other than organising the mess in his head, even just a skosh. The pity parties he threw for himself were a rarity, he never was the one to complain about his fate, but they definitely were there, whenever the load on his shoulders got a bit too heavy to carry on his own. And if he was ever doubtful about the sincerity of his friend’s intentions, he sure as hell wasn’t now, nobody would ever sit through his ranting if they weren’t genuine.

Now it was Styles who got stuck in the middle of his bullshit, and if anything, he could only pity the boy. He asked for none of this, nor he could see the breakdown coming since Louis was the true king of faux composure, at least until he broke and sunk in the bottomless pit of sadness. Poor boy, he only wanted to get laid and ended up entangled in the drama that didn't even involve him in the first place.

Let’s give credit when the credit’s due, he was pushing through the crisis like a true champ, although pushing might be a wrong word. He wasn’t rushing, no actual pressure from him for the writer to snap out of it; small steps taken throughout the day that the two of them spent in bed, adding up along the way, perhaps providing some comfort to the man who still felt buried in the rubble after the metaphorical ceiling had caved in on him, no rescue team in sight.

Despite acting like a brat, going back to his ways of seeking reasons to start a fight, none of those given by Harry, he was grateful for his soothing presence. Even if the boy was irritating him with all the questions he asked, coming from the place of worry and just altogether kindness, Louis was certain that he would've lost it if Harry carried on with his plans and just left him there to get through his stuff, just like he should do since he was a grown-ass man, not a baby.

“I can go with you if you want.” The singer proposed after a quick minute Louis spent stuck in his own head, just thinking about Harry and how nice his fingers felt on his scalp, then cursing himself out since that wasn’t really appropriate when his mum was all the way there, alone.

He was embarrassed to admit that the scenario Harry brought up sounded way better than him going there alone. What he also knew was that he could never ask that of him. Dragging Harry to over twenty-four-hour journey just to make sure his mother was okay was crossing too many lines, lines that friends with benefits should never cross.

They never really talked about the official status of their relation, still stuck on the 'business partners' they've settled on around the start of their journey, but it was clear as the day that this title stopped cutting it ages ago. That's why Louis deemed it friends with benefits, that one the only thing that made sense considering their arrangement and even if there were things that did not exactly match the description, especially the random gestures of affection they were bolder with as the time went by, it wasn't a good moment to dwell on that particular conflict.

"Louis." The older man flinched at the sound of his name, more at the impatient tone he hasn't expected, not from Harry. A deep sigh left Styles' lungs before he started talking again, his voice back to the soothing, syrupy blanket that stretched over Lou's body. "Listen to me, please." He urged since it wasn't exactly obvious right now, even if his eyes were stuck to his companion, there was really no way to tell if he wasn't gone somewhere in his head. "If you don't go, I will." The threat almost made the smaller man scoff because really, what business would he have visiting a mother that wasn't his own? Yes, the two knew each other, shared a polite chat a few times, but their loose acquaintance was hardly a reason to fly half of the world for. Especially that without being a relative, there was a big chance that he wouldn't even be let near the patient, although Louis could already see his friend flirting his way past the usual border.

Harry’s words haven’t coaxed anything back from him, still as relaxed as he could get, nothing even preparing to be said. He could see the furrow that started settling in his friend’s eyebrows, the one thing that never failed to make it known that the boy was frustrated; he had every reason to be though, with Louis being a stubborn brat that he was, very much aware of his behaviour, Harry’s reaction was VERY mild.

Even with the irritation setting in Styles' features, he hasn't stopped caressing his friend's scalp, his nimble fingers very helpful, soothing circles still drawn on the sensitive skin. "You'll give me your card, I'll buy something, so it seems like you're here… Jeff won't know anything." The plan the brunette was working on for some time now started being unravelled. A gesture of his hand silenced his friend who was already going to oppose. "I'll give you one of mine if you need anything, use it as your own." Next argument that met with an avalanche of criticism. "You don't have to stay there for long if you don't want to."

“Oh, yes. And how exactly would I explain having Harry Styles’ card in my wallet?” Tomlinson addressed the single smallest issue with Harry’s plan.

Styles’ expression remained unchanged, back to blank as he stared on the piece of art hung in front of him. “Why would anybody search your wallet? You plan on committing a crime?” The sheer amusement audible in his voice took some weight off the conversation. “I can get you a prepaid one if you’re scared.” His shoulders slumped in a shrug when his fingers finally, much to Louis’ disappointment, untangled from his hair, leaving the strands dishevelled.

At first, Louis had doubts that Harry was even serious, his plan all too ridiculous to be real; most of that surfacing simply from the fact that the boy was willing to trust him enough to even propose lending him his card but then, he remembered whom he was dealing with and then it hit him that this was the most Harry thing to do, expose himself to getting scammed for the sake of helping his friend.

Of course, there was never really thought of stealing from the boy that crossed Louis' mind, but Harry couldn't know any of that. It was really foolish of him to ever trust the writer like that, anybody for that matter. He knew well enough, from their deep talks that significantly decreased when they've started sleeping with each other, that Harry was no stranger to being betrayed by people he trusted. The list of stories Louis could bring up at any given moment way too long to belong to one person, especially as young as Harry was. That's a thing that the writer immediately associated with stardom, just a downside to the whole situation, not that important if you take into consideration all the other aspects of the job.

 _But_ , being burned as many times as he was, Styles should’ve been warier than he was, the sign of which definitely wasn’t letting a stranger take your card across two continents. The word stranger kind of stung when he thought about it but the truth was, he really was a stranger to the boy. It was mostly Harry who talked during their chats, Louis reduced to a role of the interviewer, always very eager to soak up every word that fell off his subject’s lips, inking the ones he deemed important on the surface of his brain, keeping them fresh until he could write them down when left alone, keeping the fact hidden from the singer who most likely wouldn’t be nearly as open if he knew the contents of Louis’ work computer.

“You have to go, Louis.” The taller one repeated himself, his voice more decided when he gently slid from under his friend’s silhouette, leaving the bed without a word as he trailed off somewhere after having a glance at his phone.

There was no place for confusion when Louis was left alone, in his head, it was really quite obvious that Harry simply got enough of his bullshit, not that he could be blamed for being over Lou’s drama and half-assed responses.

For a stranger, it could only look like he didn't even want to go see his mother, as if he didn't care enough to go check on her, but that was far from the truth. Having his mother, land in the hospital when he was so far away was the single most terrifying thing that could ever happen to him, draining every drop of life force from his body, the remnants spent on looping his thoughts around his mum, worrying sick and, somewhere in the back of his head, preparing for the worst.

He tried to convince himself that it was just his overdramatic part that took the wheel and steered his thoughts to the darkest regions; after all, his mother wouldn’t say that everything was okay if it was really bad, would she? His own panic turned out to be the single thing preventing him from packing his bag and going to Manchester to be with his mother, to make sure if she’s fine.

What if she wasn’t? What would he do then? He couldn’t leave her alone if his worst scenarios turned out to be even remotely connected to truth, throwing the entire book deal out of the window and while his thought process seemed to be quite a selfish one at first, he only even agreed to take the deal because of his mother, because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to provide for them both, to take care of her like she took care of him for all those years, without getting nothing in return.

Of course, his relationship with mum was not even close to being as transactional as he might have made it seem; he was sure that she would do the same for him if it was him who fell ill, there was no doubt in his mind that it would’ve been the case. But it wasn’t him who was sick and even if his mother told him on numerous occasions that he should never even think like that, he would rather have the roles switched. 

So, long story short… he wanted to go check on his mother, not even thinking about mundane things like how exactly he would pay for the tickets or explain abandoning post if Jeff caught him red-handed. The bottom line was, he was absolutely terrified to go there and see that his worst fears were true and even if the chances of that were slim, there were still there, hanging above his stiff body like a storm cloud, dark and threatening, making him look like the lousiest son on the planet since he was just embarrassed to admit to his thought process, scared that saying the words out loud would give the cloud hovering over his head more charge.

Harry came back before Louis had the chance to crumble completely, his presence taking half of the weight off the writer's shoulders. Turned out that the boy only left to fetch the takeout he ordered without the other guy realising, further convincing Tomlinson that this boy that he was lucky to have met, this boy that was so much better in every aspect than he was, was his guardian angel, making sure he doesn't forget about stuff like eating or drinking water, things that in comparison with the storm going on inside his head seemed so silly that he never thought about them on his own. He was both happy to have the boy who took care of him so well and irritated with his stubbornness to pretty much force food into his stomach that was twisted in a knot from the second his godmother had called him.

A soft puff of air, brushed over Louis' neck when Harry leaned over him, just to check if he managed to fall asleep. He hasn't, sleepiness still battling with overthinking, no conclusion to that clash in sight. It was almost embarrassing how helpless he felt in the moment, only the fact that in last conscious decision, he decided to turn his back on his friend, hid the humiliation that slipped down his face in the shape of fat, glistening tears that wet the pillow below his head. He hated that. Being the little shit that he was, he wasn't going to conform to unsaid orders, not at all. Vulnerability the last thing he was comfortable with, at least his own.

And while he tried to convince himself that Harry was blissfully ignorant about the breakdown that he found himself somewhat involved in, willingly or not; the fingers that started following the nubs of his spine, coincidently starting their journey when the first sob shook his body, told everything there was to say about Styles’ awareness of the situation.

Harry, being the master of non-intrusive comfort, said nothing, just kept gently rubbing his way down Louis’ spine only to come back in the same fashion and loop around, like he was doing for however long it was that his friend was sobbing. He did not judge, at least not audibly and for that, Louis was extremely grateful, already embarrassed plenty by his behaviour that most likely was a huge overreaction but even his mum’s cheerful tone that convinced him that everything was okay through the phone, not that long prior to the first sob, wasn’t enough to soothe him. He wasn’t fully aware when exactly it was when he stopped giving any credibility to his mother's words, at least those in any way associated with her wellbeing, but apparently, that was the case.

He could practically hear Harry's thoughts, mocking his childish outburst that started with him admitting every worry he had in his mind at the moment, his brain constructing vile thoughts and putting them in Styles' head as if the boy was even able to think about anybody in such a way. And see, even if he knew that it was all on him, he still felt so, so stupid because that was never supposed to be happening. It wasn't him who was meant to be weak, defenceless. It was never his turn to do that, that part of him closed off somewhere in a cubicle in the forgotten part of his brain, trying to break out since he locked it there around fifteen years ago, finally freed after all that time, in the least suitable moment imaginable, manifesting as loud as it managed before inevitably going back to the confinement of its prison.

If he ever wondered what would be the first memory that would pop up in Harry’s head when someday, years from conclusion of their journey, he stumbles upon the guy that made his life a living nightmare somewhere in the possible peak of his career, now he knew that it will be the image of him, curled up on his bed, crying out for his mummy. And if that wasn’t the most humiliating thing in his life, he did not know what was.

It was the twenty-third hour of the two of them being awake, both exhausted, even if the majority of this time was spent in bed, their physical activity reduced to gentle, soothing touches and for Harry, fetching essentials from downstairs, very much wary about keeping them, especially Louis, fed and hydrated, much to his dislike.

Louis' body started slowly shutting down due to fatigue caused by his breakdown, the signs of approaching sleep, visible from somewhere around the twenty-second hour of the bizarre day they've spent together, so different than any others before and most definitely not likely to return ever again. There was a stray, barely audible snore that left Lou's throat here and there, disjointed, incoherent mumbling under his breath as the sleep he was descending into proved to be everything but sound, filling Harry with worry as to how well the man was going to be able to rest, even if the quality of his night's sleep could've been predicted from the get-go.

On top of everything, he was happy to see his friend slip into the arms of Morpheus because he’s been through a lot this day, shifting through the entire spectrum of emotions from the initial numbness that took over him, through the absolute fury that even if quite alarming, still was a nice change in the scenery when the man had learned that he already had tickets bought for his flight home, to the almost chirping tone that was faked during the call with his mother, even if hardly real, still a variation from the usual.

Thankfully, Tomlinson was in no state to hold the grudge for too long, very much unpleased with his friend going behind his back (both literally and figuratively) and making arrangements on his behalf, not asking for permission. There was still that pinch of resentment before the man stopped talking, but Harry was certain that all of this would be gone when Louis gets back from his trip home; he could endure the few hours of angry Louis he was going to get before the man was to go away to spend three days with his mother, hopefully, enough to ease his nerves.

Only when he heard Louis’ breathing become softer, his quiet snoring in a consistent rhythm, he let his eyes fall close for longer than a blink, knowing that the second his eyelids seal, he’s done for.

"You're still fine, is that right?" Harry's voice entered the living room before his body did, startling the unsuspecting writer who was struggling to zip his overnight suitcase closed after stubbornly insisting that he's going to be fine with the small luggage only, even if he was going to be gone for whole three days. 

To be honest, he didn't have to pack anything at all, his childhood bedroom still being a storage space for some of his stuff, part of which probably too small for him to fit into. After all, no matter how reluctant he was to acknowledge the fact, his body had changed throughout the eight years since he moved out from Doncaster. But he was sure he'd be able to find _something, a_ nd even if not, he wasn't exactly a stranger to wearing the same outfit even for as long as three, consecutive days. 

"Of course, I'm fine." Louis mumbled under his breath, purposefully avoiding his friend's eyes that he knew for a fact, were staring at him, even if he wasn't able to see that they were. 

There was no bad blood between him and Harry, at least not from his side, the anger he unleashed on the boy the night prior, long gone, pushed away by the gratitude he felt for everything, really… Harry stepped up to the occasion and brought him such tremendous comfort, he could never thank him enough for that, and as much as he wanted to think that it wasn't the case, he couldn't see himself handling the situation even remotely as well if the roles were switched, thankfully that wasn't the case.

No words he could think of would ever be enough to thank Styles for what he had done for him, starting with the emotional support that helped him keep his sanity during the challenging time in his life, to the plane tickets he paid for, insisting that there was no need for Louis to pay him back. Tomlinson already knew he’d be reimbursing the boy the second his royalties come through, even if he was going to starve for the rest of the month; still, Harry’s help was very much appreciated, to the point where he regretted that he wasn’t exactly sure how he could show that, his brain still a complete scramble.

That’s why he said nothing. Even more so, he found himself avoiding his friend from the second he woke up, which was quite tricky at first, considering that his body was entrapped under Harry’s limbs which the boy had a tendency to throw all over the mattress, his silhouette twisted in truly bizarre positions upon waking up.

It was nothing more than his embarrassment that prompted this unusual behaviour; he had a hard time even thinking about meeting Harry’s eyes after the truly humiliating performance he executed throughout the twenty-four hours the boy was stuck with him. Of course, he knew that the brunette had to be aware that something was wrong, Louis not even focusing too much on putting his mask on, just running around, doing the same thing three times to seem busy when in reality, he was doing everything in his power not to have a chance of being alone with Harry.

Well, he was doing good enough, for the most part, avoiding the boy successfully since the breakfast they've eaten together and even if it wasn't very comfortable for Louis, all too aware of Harry's eyes fixed on him, carefully observing every twitch in his expression, he pushed through it, knowing that breaking that particular routine would be a step too far, enough to sell his act out immediately.

“I got this for you.” Styles announced and reached his hand, small, cardboard packaging perched atop his big palm; dark navy colour a great contrast with his pale skin. “It’s the ‘man’ kind, so you won’t grow a vagina from using the normal one or whatever it is that you’re fearing.” The slightest of smirks pinched the corners of his lips, showing that there was no malice behind his somewhat bitter tone.

Louis would’ve kissed him if he wasn’t so confused where exactly they were standing at the moment. He wasn’t going to complain about Harry buying him something, even if usually he would oppose a gift, even as small as the chapstick he was now struggling to retrieve from its packaging, pushing the slim stick into his pocket when he finally succeeded.

Harry’s joke wasn’t acknowledged with as little as a scoff, the older man reserving his voice for when absolutely necessary, not that many occasions to use it since he woke up, not that he was complaining.

It was a nice gesture on Harry’s side, proving once again that he was a great listener and even more, he retained the information, even as insignificant as the fact that Louis’ lips get dry during flights. He might have thought that this olive branch Harry reached in his direction, even if it wasn’t even his turn to do that, was adorable; but he wouldn’t ever admit to that, absolutely not. Louis Tomlinson never thought about anything in those categories, nothing was adorable, nobody was cute. And it was to stay like that.

Styles stretched his long limbs on the couch on which Louis’ suitcase was settled and just watched him shamelessly as if he was analysing something in his features. Perhaps he was, his friend wouldn't blame him if he was confused, after all, it was him whose behaviour was odd, not Harry.

There was just the smallest bit of regret in Louis when he was getting into the Uber he ordered for himself to get to the airport. Maybe two regrets, no more than that.

First of all, he _kind of_ wished he was either flying with Harry or, _at least,_ the boy would drop him off at the airport and _yes,_ he knew how absolutely pathetic of him it was, just as he was aware of how idiotic sounded, regretting not having more time with the brunette after purposefully avoiding him for the entirety of the day but he could not deny the thing he felt now that he glanced at the house from the car which slowly started rolling off the curb.

Another thing hit him as soon as he lost Harry's face, looking back at him from the window in the living room, sending his friend off on a journey that as short as it was, seemed like a lifetime separation after getting so used to being together at any given time. He wished his their farewell was something more than a simple, half-assed "see you", he threw at Harry upon leaving, getting something about having a safe flight in return, not really sure about the wording since half of the sentence was muffled by the door he slammed shut, maybe a bit too hard.

Louis’ heart pounded against his chest, threatening to break through his ribcage as he stood there, pressed against the door he knew his mother was behind. It was always hard for him to visit his mum whenever she had to stay there, the sight of her strapped to all that machinery never failed to make the blood solidify in his veins, a cold shiver running down his spine no matter how many times before he had a chance of seeing her like that.

The second he pushed the door away from himself, the distinct cacophony of the equipment hit his ears with the beeping, scratching, clicking; he was pretty sure he could make out the drops of whatever it was that was administered to his mother by IV, falling, pushed by the laws of physics.

This time was no different than the previous ones, his chest feeling too tight to accommodate his organs immediately when he saw that this was, in fact, his mother who was laying there, all fragile and breakable. Apparently, she wasn't nearly as sensitive to the noise surrounding her since she slept, her head rolled away from the door, shielding her sound face from her son's eyes.

He still was far from peaceful, his mother’s wellbeing very much worrying even if the doctor, after just a little bit of emotional blackmail he _might have_ used, explained that Jay’s condition was an effect of her trying to live her life like she did before the diagnosis, nothing life-threatening at all. OKAY, maybe he overreacted just a bit, a whole fucking lot actually, but that was all a consequence of his mother’s lies that took away all the credibility from her words, at least those regarding her overall health.

But now that he was there, with this deceptive sense of being in control, he finally could breathe again, fully using the potential of the lungs that even eaten away by years of nicotine addiction, were still underperforming ever since he’s got the call in the middle of the night.

The flight was an absolute nightmare, leaving him barely able to respirate when he was left alone, without Harry's soothing presence that worked like some kind of twisted life support machine, keeping him alive for the time being; Louis' vitals dropping significantly when they've separated, the middle-aged man sat next to him nowhere near as calming but now that Louis thought about it, the guy might have made the things even worse with his irritating panting that wouldn't stop throughout the whole flight.

He should be mad at his mother, he knew he should. But he couldn’t really bring himself to be angry. Not now, after countless hours of pulling hair, panicking about her state. Of course, he was still going to give her a proper bollocking for not taking her condition seriously enough, maybe even let her in on how worried he was, just to make her feel guilty enough so she'd finally listen to doctor's orders, the peaceful approach proved ineffective one too many times.

But now, all he could do was breathe, savouring every portion of air that filled his lungs, only to leave immediately, transformed into carbon dioxide. It wasn't late, not at all, the sun still in its peak on the cloudless, blue sky; but even the weather couldn't stand a chance against the jetlag that started catching up to him, only amplified by the poor night's sleep he got before the flight. His ability to spontaneously hibernate wherever was going to be put to use, an armchair to the side of the bed enticing him with its thick cushions and a soft-looking blanket draped over the armrest.

Being as stealthy as he could, he got himself settled in the chair that proved to be way more than he could settle for. Sleep started forcing his eyelids shut, and even though he might have been the single most exhausted person walking this planet at the moment, he could not fall asleep, no matter how hard he tried to. He must've jinxed himself with boasting about his abilities because right now, his brain instead of shutting down, was looping around the thought of Harry that was somewhere in the back of his head ever since he left the boy's house.

It was stupid how absolutely foreign it felt to be on his own, actually tending to his own business instead of following the guy on his oh-so-interesting quest of constantly running errands, doing rehearsals and attending the same show four times a week. There was a thought that passed his head, making him think whether he should send the boy a quick update text but after pondering over the issue for some time, he decided against it. Because _really,_ what business did the singer have with his mother’s wellbeing? Absolutely none, even if he had a hard time grasping that idea.

“You sure are very eager to get rid of me, aren’t you?” Louis eyed his mother carefully, analysing even the slightest twitch in her expression. She was back to normal, so was he. The shadow of the reprimand he had to give his mother, a situation so bizarre that he never wanted to be in that position again, gone, getting the two of them back to their usual banter and enjoying each other’s company.

Now, they were stuck in conversation why exactly Louis shouldn’t stick around for longer than it was planned for him to stay, just to make sure his mother delivers on her promise to be more careful and tending to her needs before she takes care of others’.

Of course, he was bluffing, back to his usual chipper, annoying self who had no restrictions against teasing his mother with a possibility of staying with her long-term, babysitting her since apparently, she was not responsible enough to live on her own.

Both he and the woman knew that there was really no way he could move back to his hometown, especially now. While his love for the anonymous life he led in London could've been easily pushed back, forgotten; there wasn't this option in regards to the deal he made with Azoff, no matter how bad he wanted to fully ignore that damned slip of paper, there really wasn't a way to do that.

Somewhere in the middle of his mum’s reassuring that she’s fine on her own, Louis just about to observe that she didn’t look fine where she was laying, his phone started going off in his pocket, buzzing aggressively, loud ringtone breaking through the program the two of them were watching; something about wedding dresses, stupid but not really demanding at all.

There weren’t really a lot of possibilities of people who could be calling him, everybody still convinced he was in Japan, working and pretty much withdrawn from any social life for at least five more months; that’s why his brain jumped straight to Harry.

He wasn’t mistaken, it was Styles who was calling and considering that it was almost eight in the evening where he was, it must’ve been some ungodly hour back in Tokyo, although Louis did not care enough to do the math in his head, still the tiniest bit confused about the conversion after his friend spent an embarrassingly long time trying to force the rule into his brain, apparently not effectively enough.

 _“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”_ Louis surprised himself with how calm he came off as after hours upon hours of worrying about the effect his breakdown had on their friendship, or more like his irrational behaviour before he left. He saw his mother staring at him, her plucked eyebrow lifted in an unsaid question.

A bunch of unintelligible grunts vibrated against his ear before he heard Harry inhale softly. _“Probably, yeah.”_ The rasp in his voice was sharp and prominent, very enticing to the writer who had a weakness for how Harry’s speaking voice sounded, especially during their late nights and mornings after. _“Why haven’t you called me? Are you mad at me?”_

The unmistakable hurt in Styles’ voice took him by surprise, his mouth falling open only to close when he couldn’t think of a response that would make any sense, probably because his behaviour was a bunch of bosh as well.

Feeling the intense gaze of his mother’s eyes on him, heavier now that the conversation turned out to be more than a non-committing update, he got off the chair he spent the entire time on, his bum thanking him for taking the pressure off it as he walked to the corridor, pacing it before he could bring himself to say anything.

 _“I’m not mad at you, why would I be?”_ He scoffed into the phone, chasing away curious eyes of a nurse that passed him. _“I didn’t think you’d care.”_ The truth seemed like the best policy, in this case, Harry still silent on the other side. _“I’ve been tired, I haven’t thought about calling. Sorry.”_ Yeah… the honesty lasted long, hasn’t it?

There was nothing on the other side, except Harry’s soft breathing, the only indication that he was still there, the only thing that kept Louis glued to the phone. _“What do you mean you didn’t think I’d care?”_ The hurt from the previous sentence carried through to this one, maybe even a bit more prominent than before. _"We're friends, of course, I do. I've been worried sick_.” That… was not what he was expecting, although that was exactly what he _should_ have expected, especially from Harry. _“Haven’t I shown you that I care?”_ Louis’ heart might have shattered at the tone of his friend’s voice.

Of course, he had shown that he cared, that’s precisely what the whole issue was about. About Louis’ fragile ego that just did not let him show any trace of vulnerability; weakness wasn’t something he was willing to admit to, not in front of Styles, not anybody else. _“Have you been drinking?”_ He changed the subject, addressing the familiar lisp in Harry’s voice that made itself known only after at least three drinks.

He was still pacing the corridor, dragging his feet on the linoleum that stretched throughout the whole wing, its pattern doing a great job in disguising poor maintenance, the smudges only visible if you were looking for them. _“Mum’s fine, she’s just overworked.”_ The update included only necessary information, although really, none of this was necessary for him.

 _“And you?”_ Louis was on the verge of scoffing at the words, only stopping himself because he could _hear_ that the boy was dead serious.

 _“Me what?”_ He couldn't stop the question that left his lips before he realised.

 _“Are you okay?”_ The exasperation loud and clear, even from six thousand miles apart.

 _“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be? When was I not fine?”_ Another stupid question added to the list of his achievements. He wasn't sure what was the point of pretending like the last night he spent with Harry hasn't happened, both of them vividly remembered every minute of that torture, well… maybe Louis had a few holes in his memory, but he was sure that was not the case with his friend who was way more stable than he was.

A deep, frustrated sigh broke through the line, following it a beat of silence that dragged out for what it seemed to be an eternity before the boy spoke again. _“Okay, I better go.”_ The way he said those words made it clear that there was more coming. _“Say hi to your mum from me. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”_ His voice sounded hopeful; like he was expecting Louis to say no.

 _"Yeah, call me. Thank you, Harry. Really."_ The sincerity shone in his words, even carried by all that distance between them. _“G’night.”_ He finished and before he could get anything back, he cut the connection.

He took a loop around the wing before he got back to his mother, just to get himself in check after that conversation which he could only deem bizarre, for the lack of a better word. There was no denying that there was still _something_ between them, something that shouldn’t be there, making an appearance for the first time since they’ve met. It was scary, not knowing where exactly they were standing in their relationship. Louis was terrified to do _anything_ , too afraid to make things even worse, maybe to the point where he couldn’t take it back, therefore dooming not only their friendship but also the book on which he was kind of working but not really.

Of course, as soon as he crossed the threshold of his mother’s room, the woman way too lucky to get one of her own, he could just feel the prickling of her gaze on his skin, questions being asked without his mum opening her mouth.

No matter how bad he wanted to tell her what happened, he couldn’t. His ego wasn’t the only thing that prohibited him from sharing the events of the last two days with his mother, seeking some advice from a woman he trusted unconditionally.

He didn’t know where exactly did his fragile ego come from. The only thing he knew was that it made itself known around the age of twelve and never actually left. It could’ve been his mother’s influence, his only parent always very independent, strong, the only role model he ever really had. The thing was, his mum kind of had to be like that, left alone with a child, still in the stage when you’re not really a kid anymore but still far from an adult.

He had the comfort of being able to show vulnerability, still only him he had to take care of… well, not exactly but he was the same before… and he used none of that, sheltering himself in this hard shell that thickened with every blow he took, acting as if nothing affected him. That's Louis whom everybody knew; his mother, friends, ex-partners, nobody ever got a look on what's hidden in that shell of his, nobody before Harry… the boy saw right through it, and that was one of the most terrifying things that ever happened to Louis.

Having somebody aware of that shameful part of his psyche was bad enough, even worse was the fact that he didn’t remember making a conscious decision of ever letting Styles see that part of him. Was he getting soft, now that he was getting older? He sure hoped that this wasn’t the case, ‘weak’ on the bottom of the list of adjectives he would like to be described with.

His mother must’ve seen the inscrutable look on his face, explicitly saying that he was deep in thought, the only reason why he wasn’t bombarded with questions just yet.

His feet dragged to the armchair, silhouette settling in the piece of furniture, his absence thankfully long enough for the cushions to get back to their usual shape after he flattened them with his ass.

Mother’s eyes were burning holes in his body, the furrow of her brows which he noticed in his peripheral vision, very much indicative of the fact that she was aware of the change in Lou’s mood, although that wasn’t really hard to notice, only a dark cloud chained to his ankle, following him wherever he went could’ve been more obvious than his strange behaviour.

The feeling he was very much familiar with, especially lately, had made its appearance again, for a whole different reason than previously, though. Pressure started building up in his chest, pushing on his ribs from the inside, slowly decreasing capacity of each following breath he took, getting them back to the bare minimum he needed in order to stay alive. He would’ve never predicted the situation escalating to quite this size when he decided not to speak to Harry before leaving. It was such an obvious decision to him, he couldn’t see himself being affected at all.

And now, look at him… He was struggling through every breath, brain on the whole another continent with a boy that he hoped felt way better than he was feeling right now, not deserving any of the torture since the only offence he was guilty of, was being too nice for his own good.

The wedding dress show ended, a program about some spoiled brat following, not enough to entertain him, not enough to get his mother's attention away from her son, still scrutinising his face carefully, creating theories about what it was that caused the man to behave so bizarrely.

It must’ve been at least twenty minutes since he re-entered the room when the woman shifted in her seat and broke the silence, interrupted by the hospital cacophony both of them learned to ignore by now. “Is something wrong with Harry?”

“No, everything’s fine.” He half-assed the answer, not even questioning how exactly his mother came to the conclusion that it was Styles who was calling. Now that he thought about it, maybe his speaker was turned up too loud. In the small room they were in, she probably could hear everything either way.

That lie settled in a heavy weight on his shoulders, pressing him harder into the cushions that were already overworked with the weight of his body. His mother said nothing in return, seeing through her son's bullshit like she always used to and even if she knew he was full of it, she also knew that there's no way to get anything out of Louis unless he decides to share.

The program had ended already, none of it stuck in the man's memory. He took a deep breath, glueing his eyes to the generic artwork he could bet was a recurring theme in every single room in the hospital or at least, that particular wing. "Mummy?" He found himself saying, the word foreign on his tongue since he never really used it in the past.

His eyes were still fixed on the stupid frame in front of him, following every line of the print. He could still see his mum’s head flying in his direction. “Yes, baby?” She grinned at her son, both glad he was finally talking and at the nickname he addressed her with, very appreciated after years of being deprived of it.

A deep frown darkened his features as he wondered whether he should follow with what he wanted to do. ‘Fuck it.’, he thought to himself and cleared his throat, getting his mother’s full attention because he wasn’t going to repeat himself, far too strange to be saying that even once. “I’ve slept with him.” His tongue decided to malfunction, his words sloppy, barely a mumble.

The gasp he heard was everything he needed to confirm that his mum heard him correctly, and even if she didn't, she came to the right conclusion on her own. The capillaries buried under his skin started widening, he suddenly felt so fucking hot, foreshadowing the fierce blush that was already making its way on his whole face now, not only cheeks.

“You can’t be serious...” There was no actual doubt in her voice, clearly showing that her words were there solely for the sake of drama. Louis had no reason to lie about that, not that he would ever lie to her about anything, she knew that. “Isn’t he with that… girl, from the show?” Louis was glad that he wasn’t the only one struggling to remember that poor girl’s name, not that it mattered anymore.

Apparently, his mother was out of the loop with her celebrity news, ones that she religiously watched on the Entertainment Channel every evening. He could feel her judging him, her eyes almost burning holes in her son's skin when she thought he was sleeping with a taken man.

Was Louis above getting into taken man’s pants? Absolutely not, it happened not once, not twice. But his mother did not have to know about that, did she? Considering that cheating was one of the reasons why she never made it with his father, or more like an excuse for an asshole who was adult enough to fuck but not to raise a child, he knew that telling his mother about his endeavours with taken or even married men, was not the greatest idea.

But then, he was so accustomed to knowing about Harry's actual love life, he forgot that this was not common knowledge. God, he should've kept his mouth shut; now caught between a rock and a hard place, trying not to seem like a homewrecker he might have been in the past, without spilling any of Harry’s secrets since it wasn’t his place to do that.

Even with the horrible, judgemental look, his mother was giving him, he was still glad that he could get this off his chest, at last. The weight of the secret too much for him to bear on his own. And even if his mother wasn't his first choice when it came to that kind of conversations, she was the single person he just knew he could trust with that.

Nothing was leaving his mouth, nothing being prepared to do that either. He still wasn’t sure how to handle Harry’s girlfriend’s case. “When did that happen?” The woman rescued his scattered brain, asking another question, disregarding the previous one.

"I don't know… two weeks ago?" The date of their first hook-up kind of a blur. He knew when it was, but he doubted that x-th day in Japan counted as a viable time unit. It was his first day in Harry's LA mansion when he stopped using normal calendar and keeping up with dates or even weekdays, it was good enough that he knew which month it was.

Her eyebrows knitted together, eyes still carefully watching her son, meeting with his similar ones that despite initial confidence, started avoiding her gaze as soon as he was caught staring back at her. “And what happened after?”

"We've been sleeping together since." Something twisted in his gut when he admitted to that, purposefully omitting the actual number of climaxes they've gifted each other with Harry. Not that he was counting, but it must've been enough to shock an unsuspecting person, not to mention his own mother.

“Oh, Louis…” A true concern came through with her voice. And ‘oh, Louis’ indeed.

See, he knew that nothing good ever came from arrangements like that and judging by his mother’s reaction, that was common knowledge. But even with that in the back of his head, he still went with it, pushed by _something_ , maybe it was sexual frustration, the aspect of struggling to get laid not something he even considered when he decided to sign the deal.

OKAY, he wasn’t some sex addict, he was sure he could do it without sex, even a year if it came to that. But what was his hand in comparison with sleeping with a real person? Nothing, not to mention that this person was Harry Styles himself, and if Louis was doubtful whether he saw the appeal before he met the boy, he sure as hell saw it now, the attraction even multiplied when he got the taste of what the brunette was capable of.

He was the only one to blame though, not being able to keep it in his pants led him into that weird place he was in right now. And even if he tried to convince himself that fooling around with Harry wasn't worth whatever it was that they were in the middle of right now, he really enjoyed those nights the two of them were sharing in Japan. The sex was out of this world, the two of them seemed to know exactly what the other one wanted, add to that those tender moments both of them kind of needed so far away from home, and you have the reason why the whole thing was worth the drama.


	19. Chapter 19

The sun hit particularly hard this morning, although it might have not been morning at all. Bright beams aligned perfectly with his eyes, blinding him the first thing he opened them. It was way too bright to be waking up, the lighting conditions indicative of the fact that it must’ve been well after noon when he finally snapped back into the consciousness after the horrible day he spent on flying and trying to go to sleep. 

With an incoherent grumble of profanity, he turned away from the light, the sheets sticking to his sweaty body. After the struggle of trying to go to sleep, that looked more like an outstanding performance of twisting, turning and cursing under his breath, he gave up, seeing that this was all the sleep he was going to get, at least for now. 

Feeling the strands of the shaggy carpet finding their way in between his toes was foreign, very much unlike the rug that covered the majority of the floor in Harry’s bedroom, tight and coarse, due to the natural fibres it was woven from. It was around one in the morning when after a horrible flight, he finally set his feet back in Tokyo, getting to Harry’s just when the hand of the clock passed three. 

Being the considerate person that he was, also afraid and not really sure what he was supposed to do, he headed straight for the guest bedroom, leaving his suitcase by the front door since struggling it up the stairs so late at night wasn’t really the most excellent idea, even if he knew that Harry wasn’t asleep when he arrived, his silhouette moving away from the window when he got out of the taxi, only the shadow telling that he was even there in the first place. 

Even after ten hours, it turned out he spent in bed, mostly asleep, he felt exhausted. The new jet lag added to the previous one, from which he hasn’t fully recovered yet, deeming him completely useless. He felt like that old phone that everybody had, the one that could be charged the whole day and still run out in the matter of one hour. That’s what he was right now, that battery that had barely any juice left in it, even if it pretended that it wasn’t the case. 

Feeling the pressure in his lower belly, he padded his way to the bathroom, lifting the lid of the toilet he didn’t remember closing, but that was either the fact that he never actually was in his bedroom or that it was recently cleaned, he was still unsure on the schedule Harry had with the maid that seemed to make her appearances randomly. Nevertheless, this claim was probably very far from the truth. 

After emptying his bladder and closing the lid after himself, like a civilised person he was, not that anybody but him was ever going to use this bathroom for the duration of his stay, he jumped into the shower, his body pretty much begging for him to do that. 

The shower stretched to preposterous lengths, cold water Louis opted for, doing a great job of waking him up, running down his silhouette for whole five minutes before he even picked up the bottle of his body wash and decided to finally cut to the chase because _really,_ it was kind of an asshole move to waste so much water on one shower, wasn’t it? 

After he concluded his morning routine that was pushed back even more into the afternoon than usual, he left the bathroom. He picked up a pair of underwear and shorts, pulling them onto his hips, opting out of the t-shirt since it would only piss him off, unnecessary layer to stick to his body. 

When he was done… he wasn’t sure what exactly he should do with himself. His head was in no space to even consider working, not for at least, the next two days he was sure he’d need to recover. Breakfast seemed like a good idea, more like dinner at that time, whatever… he needed food. 

And while his quest of avoiding Harry was still somewhat in effect, he had to put in on hold, at least until he gets some food in him. He wouldn’t have to do that if only he ended up hauling his suitcase upstairs and although the array of snacks he brought with himself, opting to leave some of his stuff back home to free space, wasn’t really the nutritional heaven, it was better than facing Harry after their brief phone chats that he could only deem… peculiar. 

To be honest, even the fact that there were those chats, one of them always calling the other just to catch up quickly, was more than he deserved to get. Okay, they might not have been the kings of carrying a conversation, their topics never nothing more than short updates on each other’s days, but it was enough to know that there was still something to work with between the two, the attachment very much visible in the fact that they still strived for at least the remnant of the contact they’ve had before. 

Without much more pondering over their friendship, he dragged his bare feet to the kitchen, eyes rolling to the ceiling as soon as he noticed Harry doing the dishes, the counters looking like he was working on something… complicated. “Hey.” Louis dared to take the first step in a conversation that could as well have been a total nightmare, considering how awkward some of their phone chats turned out to be. 

Harry said nothing, still shuffling through the dirty dishes, clinking of cutlery breaking the heavy silence between the two as Louis approached the fridge and pulled it open, grabbing a bottle of water for himself, downing the entirety of it in just a few, annoyingly loud gulps. “The pizza’s gonna be ready in fifteen minutes… if you’re interested.” The brunette finally spoke, the sharpness of the rasp, making Louis think that it was a while since the boy used his voice. 

“You’ve made pizza?” The writer seemed surprised, probably because he was. With his minimal cooking capability, he could not grasp the idea why in the hell would somebody rather _make_ pizza than just order it, saving up on the cleanup and manual labour involved in the process. Once again, the brunette remained silent, seeing that his answer wasn’t vital. Of fucking course, he made pizza, that’s why he said that it’s going to be ready soon. “You need help with cleaning or… something?” Lou asked, just to make sure, feeling that he was obliged to have some kind of input in the process since he felt like eating that pizza. Maybe he wasn’t the culinary virtuoso, miles from that actually, but he could wash the dishes. 

“I’m almost done.” The singer dismissed him, and sure enough, Louis hasn’t even thought of insisting, even if it looked like Harry was far from done. 

It was maybe ten minutes since Louis left the house, feeling crushed by the suffocating tension between him and Harry, not sure what exactly he could do to combat it when he saw in his peripheral vision the shadow of a man whose identity wasn’t any mystery to him, the boy sitting next to him on the grass with his knees curled up to his chin. 

Seeing that there must’ve been a reason why Styles joined him, he closed the book he swiped from the living room collection and set it to his left, giving his full attention to the boy who was very obviously staring at him, not even trying to hide that fact. 

The deep breath the singer took felt tremendous for some reason, like some sort of transformation rather than a simple act of respiration. It took him maybe another minute, during which he managed to moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue and clear his throat before he finally spoke, his harsh voice overpowering the sounds of leaves, shuffled by the gentle breeze and some distant chirping of birds Louis would never be able to name. “Is it weird? I don’t want us to be weird…” The question seemed to have been thought over countless times already, just to make sure it wasn’t, well… weird. 

Fuck, how big of a relief it was to hear those words, especially that it was Harry who initiated the conversation, showing that he was just as uncomfortable with whatever it was that was happening as Louis was. “I don’t want us to be weird either. Glad we’re on the same page.” The smallest of chuckles bubbled its way out from his gut, still not knowing if it was appropriate to laugh. 

“What happened? I’m so confused.” The boy admitted, his eyes darting somewhere, stuck on the crown of the tree growing in the corner of his backyard. “It was fine and then… it wasn’t.” Well… that’s how those things usually go, don’t they? 

In their usual state, he would be first to make fun of that wording, but they were far from their ordinary. “I think it’s on me, I’m sorry.” There was a sliver of hesitancy that tainted his words. He wasn’t sure where it came from, there was really no denying that it was, in fact, all his fault. “I’m serious, sorry.” He cursed himself out in his head. 

“Okay, but _why_?” The inquiry hasn’t stopped, the boy eager to learn the reasoning behind that silent treatment he was given. “Did I do something wrong? I should’ve done more, shouldn’t I?” That pained note in his voice, only indicative of the fact that the boy was, most likely, guilt-tripping himself ever since things between them complicated. 

This time, Louis just couldn’t help the scoff that slipped out through his lips. “What?” Now he was genuinely flabbergasted, Harry’s twisted conclusion couldn’t have been further away from the truth. “How could you possibly have done _more_ than what you’ve done for me?” His head shook, the smirk vanishing from his lips as soon as he saw his friend was everything but amused. “If anything, you’ve done too much.” 

“That’s stupid, I’ve barely done anything.” A stubborn expression settled in a furrow in Harry’s eyebrows, his earthy-green eyes back on his friend, pressuring for answers he still hasn’t gotten. 

“I don’t do well with… emotions, I guess.” Louis finally steered the conversation on the lane he wanted to avoid, seeing that without getting his hands dirty, they were not going to get through this. This attempt only showing how desperate he was to put the thing past them. 

“I figured, what about that?” Harry had trouble making the connection between the two, not that he could be blamed for that, Louis knew he was not making too much sense. His head was cocked to the side, a question still lingering in his gaze. 

“It’s just I… ugh, fuck.” Louis cursed under his breath, struggling to find right words because that’s precisely what he was talking about. He didn’t do well with acknowledging his own emotions, not to mention actually _talking_ about them with somebody else. And he knew that Harry wouldn’t get his struggle because he was a polar opposite of that. “I was embarrassed, ashamed. I still am, okay?” The confession left his lips before he could decide against it. “And I know that it’s stupid and selfish or whatever but I don’t do… all that.” There was hope that Styles would get the message without him actually saying what he didn’t want to say. Upon seeing the brunette’s confused expression, he knew that the luck was not on his side. “I don’t pity myself, I don’t fucking cry, I’m not weak… I’m sorry you had to look at it and that I’ve wasted your time with my bullshit. I still feel stupid and when I woke up… I didn’t know how to even look you in the eyes, I still don’t know.” A bitter chuckle shook his silhouette when he finished speaking, feeling the heat spreading all over his face, his embarrassment on full display, the blush of his face most likely able to be seen from space. 

“I never thought you were weak.” Harry admitted; the wrinkle in between his eyebrows smoothing out, expression back to neutral. “Is that really what this whole thing was about? About you thinking that I thought you weren’t man enough?” The singer scoffed, his head shaking in disbelief, overgrown hair bouncing around his face. “What the fuck does that mean anyway? You thought that _I_ ,of all people, would judge _you_? For _crying?_ ” There was evident amusement in his voice, sourcing from the fact that during their short time together, the writer witnessed his subject in tears more times than he could count. “There’s a difference between being stuck with somebody and sticking with them because you want to be there for them and if you don’t understand that, you have some shitty friends, sorry to break it to you.” 

In true Louis fashion, he didn’t _really_ get Harry’s words, at least not entirely. What he got though, was that apparently the two of them were ready to put this whole thing behind and considering how fucking unnecessary the entire drama was in the first place, he was _so_ glad to get this over with because this has been the only thing occupying his mind ever since it turned out that his mother was actually okay and not just lying that she was fine. 

All the three days he spent in his hometown, after the first one returning home with his mother, taking good care of her, at least to the best of his abilities, the only thing that he always had stuck in the back of his head was this whole situation that he didn’t exactly know how to handle and _thank God_ for Harry and his effortless ability to always be the better person because if it wasn’t for him, Louis didn’t know how long it would’ve taken him to put his pride aside and own up to acting stupid. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to be the one to reach out, the most challenging step already made for him, leaving him with the apologising that in itself was tedious enough but still nothing in comparison with what Harry took upon himself. He took three deep breaths in preparation for the words he already had in mind, not that much pondering over them required since he decided to keep it traditional. “I’m sorry.” He concluded the apology with a sigh, swaying his head away from his friend, just to hide his embarrassment. 

There was the smallest smirk that crept its way onto Harry’s lips. He seemed to be contemplating something for a long beat, the silence between them way lighter than previously. The gods seemed to be in their favour, piercing beeping of the oven reaching them from the kitchen, immediately summoning the singer who without a word, got up and went back in. “We’re eating outside?” The question broke out before the boy disappeared inside. 

“Yeah.” Louis agreed, thinking that the somewhat uncomfortable garden set was way less likely to put him to sleep than the couch and he kind of felt like he had to stay awake. There was still something telling him that if they don’t finalise the reconciliation before he goes to sleep, he’s going to wake up to the same shit he woke up to today. He didn’t want to risk another one of those heartfelt conversations. 

“Oh fuck, why would you do that to me? I thought we were fine now!” Tomlinson wailed as he put the plate he managed to empty aside, falling completely to the grass, stretching his body that, at the moment, felt like it was at least seventy percent made of pizza. “That was the best pizza I’ve ever... I don’t eat too much pizza, but you know what I mean.” A compliment was shot at the sky since his eyes were stuck to the sheet of blue above the two of them. 

“The dough was lumpy.” Louis’ praise was met by an observation about the off texture of the crust which both of them noticed, but for the writer, it didn’t really matter too much. Maybe it was a bit reminiscent of the way his mother used to make it when he was little, lumpless crust was a rarity back then. 

“That’s how my mum used to make it.” A chuckle broke out where the brunette sat next to him. Apparently, Harry thought this was a joke, but it really wasn’t. “What you’ve been up to when I was gone?” There was real interest hidden behind the question that probably shouldn’t have been asked in the first place, considering that _technically_ , he got those updates during the calls, but their conversations were so half-assed, that he never really got to learn anything. 

“I was reading mostly, writing some too. Just being here, having some alone time.” His shoulders shrugged as he gave the answer that even with its brevity, was still much more than the ‘nothing much’ he used to give over the phone. 

“So… just standard superstar business, yeah?” He laughed, still not taking his eyes off the sky. “Thought you were supposed to hit the studio, weren’t you?” The question was there even if Louis was confident that this was exactly what Harry claimed he’d be doing when he was alone. 

“I wasn’t sleeping well, would’ve been useless.” The boy inhaled sharply, the air finding its way out of his nostrils slower, calmer. He laid down on the bare grass, just like his friend did, his eyes stuck to the plane that was making its way across the sky, leaving a white trail behind in a straight line that parted the sky in two. “I did not appreciate the alone time.” He admitted after a stretch of silence that was back there as soon as he was done speaking. “Am I allowed to say that I’ve missed you?” 

_Ouch_ , that… stung? Louis wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but something in the way Harry asked that question hit him right in the gut, or maybe it felt more like a fist that gripped his insides and now was twisting its wrist. It a was weirdly nauseating feeling that overtook him, summoned by nothing more than Harry’s words that shouldn’t have shaken him nearly as hard as they had. 

He wanted to say something back, not really knowing how to because he was never good with words, especially those that meant something more than their literal meaning. Another thing was that he wasn’t necessarily sure what he was supposed to say to that since they’ve never really discussed where the line was between them, not that they ever drew one anyway. Was Harry allowed to say that? It made things kind of weird, but then, he never wanted to be the person to tell the boy what he was allowed to do and what he wasn’t, he already had too many people whom he paid to do exactly that. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, leaving the answer to that open since even despite the thought process he followed just now, he still came out blank. “But it was weird not having you around.” His confession seemed lighter, mostly due to the less-committing words he used, trying to take some load off the message that no matter how he paraphrased Harry’s declaration, was still the same thing and both of them knew that. 

“Tell me how many times exactly have you watched this movie?” Harry’s voice broke out after maybe half an hour of them saying absolutely nothing, his eyes unglued from the TV screen they were stuck to for way too long considering the absolute trainwreck the movie Louis chose turned out to be. 

The boy’s voice might have gotten Louis out from where he was already on the verge of dozing off, way too tired to even think about doing anything more than heading to bed and yet, he was still stuck on the couch with his friend, watching _“The Room”_ for what it felt like the thousandth time in his life. OKAY, he didn’t know the exact number, but it was way more than acceptable amount, which for one person would’ve been one, maybe not even that. 

And then, saying that he was _stuck_ with Harry, wasn’t really accurate at all since he was the one who initiated the hangout, still just the tiniest bit needy after their forced separation. Even if they’ve spent almost every minute since reconciling together, it was still far from enough. He was just too used to this boy’s company, how could he deny that? 

The screen of his phone let him in on the secret, showing that it was almost one in the morning and while in normal circumstances, Louis would’ve thought that the night was barely getting started… jet-lagged version of him argued that it was more like the middle of the said night. 

They were sitting on the couch, their bodies coming into contact only where Harry’s toes touched Louis’ thigh as the boy was laying down with his knees curled, so his friend had at least some space for himself. Of course, there was still a bunch of other seating options available, starting with the armchairs, ending on the pillows, still scattered around the coffee table from when Harry had a few of his friends over before he was left alone for those three days he was in no shape to entertain anybody. But Tomlinson stuck to his first choice and even if he wasn’t very eager to admit that, his friend’s presence was still very much soothing to him and if that effect wasn’t necessarily desired at the moment, considering that it only urged him to fall asleep, he was glad to see that it was still there, showing that their stupid misunderstanding hasn’t resulted in anything that was beyond repair. 

He was reluctant to answer the question, the number quite embarrassing now that it was Harry who asked about it. In different company, he would’ve felt proud of himself but opposed to Styles, some of his friends, well… one of them, Marco, had a similar fascination about movies bad to the point of being iconic. So, using his sleepiness as a shield, he grunted for a second before altogether ignoring the inquiry, acting as if he never heard it. 

The question wasn’t repeated, the answer evidently not too important to the boy, or maybe he already figured that his friend watched the movie a ridiculous amount of times. “This is awful, horrible.” Harry complained, shaking his head in regards to Tommy Wiseau’s performance, done with the séance even though they were still in the first half! 

“I guess it’s better when you’re high.” Louis observed, his statement followed by a yawn. Now that he was thinking… he didn’t remember ever watching that movie completely sober, maybe there should be a three drink minimum rule somewhere in the summary of that questionable masterpiece of cinematic arts. “I guess we have one of yours, I’ve never really noticed how much you talk during movies.” His head shook lightly, fringe falling into his eyes before he pushed it away, even if he knew that the action was somewhere pointless, his hair still too short to stay put behind his ears. 

The lack of Louis’ interest in any movies they’ve watched together previously, all of them chosen by Harry, must’ve been the reason why he never really noticed the boy’s ability to babble through the entire séance. That trait that for some could be annoying, not really too important for Tomlinson was even more bizarre if you consider that normally, Harry was pretty silent, in this perfect kind of quiet that never really got awkward. 

Of course, it was miles away from the Styles he got a glimpse of online before he met the boy. Harry he knew right now would’ve shocked Louis from a few months ago with how talkative and altogether outgoing he was, a polar opposite of the timid, quiet grump, he seemed to be back then, the assumption based solely on his interview persona. But all in all, Harry was very comfortable around people, being the centre of attention, not something he’d complain about if he was around people which attention he didn’t mind. He also had his quiet days when he would just roam around the house and maybe keep silent, non-intrusive company that sometimes was very appreciated since it gave the writer time to actually do his work instead of constantly getting distracted with new activities the boy came up with. 

Harry’s eyebrows pinched together when he stopped pretending that he wasn’t staring. Now his gaze fully exposed to Louis who stared back at him, his eyes halfway covered by eyelids that felt like they were made of lead by how heavy they were at the moment. “One of what?” The singer finally asked, confusion painted on his face, clear as the day. 

“A flaw!” Tomlinson clapped his hands, seeming too excited by the news that Harry Styles was not, in fact, perfect, no matter how hard he tried to look like he was, no matter how hard his fans were convinced that he was. “I thought I’d never find one.” A whole new dose of energy flushed through his body, forcing his eyes open to meet his friend’s surprised expression. 

“That’s not even the tip of the iceberg.” A bitter chuckle followed the confession. Harry pulled his legs up and sat on the couch, glancing at the screen of his phone before he got up. “I don’t mind you thinking that it’s the only one I have, though, go ahead.” 

“Your lumpy pizza dough doesn’t count, nor do your weird feet.” He nudged his friend’s foot with his own, pulling a smirk from Harry who gave him a quick glance and distanced himself from the couch, toeing his way to the kitchen where he filled a glass with tap water and downed it in just a few, loud gulps. 

“How’d you sleep tonight?” The question reached Tomlinson who was still sitting on the couch, fumbling with the remote since, by the looks of it, their séance was over. 

It was… random, to say the least. Especially after how long it was since he actually woke up but whatever. “Fine, I guess.” He lied, he hasn’t slept fine, at all. The mattress was too soft for his liking, and even if he knew that that was not the only reason why he hasn’t enjoyed his night, he wasn’t going to admit what was the other. 

“I’m gonna head upstairs, is that okay?” The boy asked as if their movie night wasn’t already over, an inscrutable look on his face as he made his way to the staircase, slapping his bare feet on the hardwood floor. 

Louis answered with a nod, sending his friend off with a forced smile, following his path not long after but instead of heading to the master, he opted for the bedroom he was supposed to be staying in this whole time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was kinda short, I know, sorry. It just made more sense to split it like that.  
>  I encourage you to comment, it's a huge motivator, makes me know that there are people who are actually reading the things I write and that's a push I need at the moment since I'm in the midst of a bit of a block.


	20. Chapter 20

“Why would you even bring me here in the first place?” A harsh look was thrown at Harry who sat opposite of his friend, even despite Louis’ grumpy mood, he was still grinning like stupid, watching the writer scan the menu in search of something… _safe_ to eat. 

Louis had no idea what was so amusing in his struggle. From the first day in Japan, he clearly stated his lack of interest in eating any sort of raw fish, and yet, Styles dragged him to his friend’s sushi restaurant that barely served anything _but_ what he refused to eat. 

Maybe it was punishment for his stupid behaviour that the two of them technically put in the past already, not even mentioning the weird period anymore. Still, he couldn’t really come up with any other reason why Harry would torture him like that. If he liked sushi, he had more than plenty of occasions to enjoy it on his own or with his local friends whom he saw quite frequently lately; but not, he insisted that Louis was essential to him right now. 

Louis’ struggle was concluded with a shrug, nothing more than that. “You can always order it cooked.” He announced and significantly increased the chances of his friend actually eating something. The writer was almost settled on sitting this lunch out. “I can’t promise they won’t judge the shit out of you, but that’s an option.” 

“Oh no, no…” Tomlinson shook his head, a smug smirk on his lips. “You will be ordering for us, get me whatever you feel I should try that does not contain raw meat, good luck with that.” He fully pushed the dreaded task onto his friend who only rolled his eyes in response, immediately seeking waitress’ eyes and summoning her with a smile, announcing that they were ready to order. 

After their order was placed, Styles’ broken Japanese making an appearance as he tried to pronounce the names correctly, they were left alone to get busy with each other. The conversation focused mainly on the singer’s studio endeavours that were still quite mysterious to Louis, who even if he tried to get something about those sessions from Harry, wasn’t let in on the secret of what exactly it was what the boy was working on. 

For food so simple in construction, it sure took quite a while to get prepared, Louis finding himself daydreaming, not all of his friend’s words reaching him as he got busy scanning the restaurant and people around them, making baseless assumptions about other clients and their personal lives. 

The local in itself was kind of… heavy, although that feeling might have been entirely blamed on the incense that some genius decided was an excellent addition to the place in which people were eating food. Well… it might have been his ignorance for the culture or whatever but he did not appreciate the intense scent surrounding them, and even though they were lucky enough to be seated next to an opened window, it was still oppressive enough. 

Aubergine walls and dark, wooden floor only further completed the look of every sushi restaurant he had ever seen on TV or into which he had a chance of looking as he walked by them in London. All this time, he thought this was some stereotypical setting, gotten out of somebody’s ass that just kind of stuck and spread like wildfire but maybe it was an actual standard? Being a stranger to Japanese culture, any sort of foreign culture really, he couldn’t tell whether of the two it was. 

His knee collided with the underside of the tabletop for the third time already when he got a bit overeager with kicking his leg in anticipation of a meal, his stomach was demanding. Harry sure looked amused when the writer rubbed his kneecap to rid himself of at least a part of the pain that the occurrence sparked. If the boy ever thought that this time was going to be the last one, successfully putting his companion off the action of fidgeting under the table, he was underestimating Louis’ stubbornness and incapability to sit still. In that sense, he might as well have been four years old. 

Solid twenty minutes had passed, maybe even more, before their food started being delivered. In true Harry fashion, there was way more than they could ever eat, even after taking under consideration that they were both famished, had not eaten anything that day yet. 

Louis was doing a better job of using chopsticks than he did back in the start of his Tokyo journey, still nowhere near as skilled as the locals or even Harry for that matter but the YouTube tutorials he _might have_ watched in his downtime, brought a satisfactory effect, resulting in him dropping a piece into the dish with soy sauce only once… _OKAY, twice_. 

His face was grimacing fiercely when he watched Harry devour pieces of sashimi with all its raw fish and absolute grossness. He might have been pondering over calling quarantine on the kisses they were slowly getting back into, but before he could make a final decision about it, Styles started coughing, grasping his chest as if he was dying, quite an exaggeration after getting a bit too generous with wasabi. 

Still on his deathbed, the singer found in himself enough attention to divide it between the main action of trying to get rid of the burn in his throat and kicking Louis’ shin under the table, not appreciative of chuckles that took over the man in reaction to his misery. 

After the crisis was averted, Harry back to his food, the other guests’ eyes back on their plates, he eyed his friend carefully as he sipped the soup that was the only thing he had left on his agenda after reversing the usual order in which the dishes should have been enjoyed. “What would it take for you to try one of these?” Styles used chopsticks to point at one, particularly plump piece of tuna, its red colour successfully deterring Tomlinson from the idea of ever putting the thing into his mouth. “Or that.” Seeing Louis’ apprehension, the boy lowered the stakes, pointing at the piece of what the writer was pretty sure was named maki. 

He didn’t know whether Harry thought that he was mentally challenged or blind, there was literally the same tuna in the filling, wrapped in some rice and nori sheets. “One billion quid.” He exclaimed, making sure to give a number ridiculous enough, so the boy doesn’t think he’s serious. It was a success, his friend only chuckled and quickly finished the rest of food he had scattered on his plates, stretching his stomach in the process just like Louis did, a dull pain settled in both of their guts as a consequence of ordering too much stuff. 

They were separated, in two different sections of a record shop Harry claimed was necessary for Louis to see, shuffling through the enormous selection that might have contained every album released since the beginning of time. Louis was browsing a section labelled simply ‘rock music’, searching specifically for one, particular record he never had a chance of getting on vinyl before and if he was hesitant to the idea of venturing into the shop in the first place, all the doubt had vanished the second he found precisely what he was looking for. A mint-condition copy of Arctic Monkeys’ _“Humbug”,_ sent sparks of electricity down his spine when he snatched it from the box, tucking it under his arm as if he was expecting somebody to fight him for it. 

Of course, he could’ve gotten it online ages ago, but then, the process of finding records that sparked something inside of him was part of the fun. That’s why he decided to lay the possession of this, and some other albums he was on the lookout for, in the hands of the fate and wait for another one of those rushes, similar to that one he got just now when he finally found one of his favourite records of all time. 

Invigorated by his discovery, he started crossing the first floor of the store, getting through a labyrinth of tables upon tables on which, carefully organized, were thousands of records, representative of every genre imaginable. There were some other people scattered around the place, casually browsing without the intent of purchase, soft melody of some sort of smooth jazz record filled the room, providing something for brain to ponder on without being too intrusive. And there was Harry with an array of records in every colour of the rainbow, tucked under his arm, the construction threatening to collapse since there was only so much he could carry, the singer already pushing his luck as it was. 

Louis, being a good friend that he was, took the records off Harry’s hands, making sure his one doesn’t get mixed up with his pal’s. Styles didn’t have the time to enjoy free space too long before he started filling it with more albums. “Getting a bit crazy, aren’t we?” He inquired his friend who now seemed to be tossing random records into his arms, without doing as little as studying the tracklist. His feet were dragging after Harry, following him throughout the sections of his choice, letting his brain wander, not paying much attention to anything but his thoughts. 

“Especially you and your one album.” The boy scoffed, his eyes darting to another sizable stack of records in his arms. “I think we’re done here, at least for now.” 

Forty minutes later, the two of them were back in their temporary residence and what was supposed to be a pit stop to drop off their shopping, turned out to be more permanent since Louis refused to leave again, already too exhausted with the bustle of the city. 

It was surprising how unbearable Tokyo turned out to be for him. After all, he was living in London where there were loads of people as well but somehow, and he didn’t know if that was supported by any official data, it felt like Tokyo was way more packed with people, making it almost impossible to take a step without bumping into somebody. A nightmare for a small-town lad that Louis was. 

On the other hand, Harry was raised in a village over sixty times smaller than his hometown (yes, he googled that), and he seemed to thrive in the overcrowded conditions. However, in his case, it might have been something else that sold the city, that sense of being anonymous that only those places provided. A plethora of faces around you kind of restricted you from paying attention to each one, decreasing the chances of the boy being recognized severely. It still happened sometimes, the singer almost always eager to engage in a quick chat with whoever it was that approached him but the occurrences were significantly sparser than in Europe or LA for that matter. 

Louis was busy shuffling through the pile of records Harry picked up since he never got the chance to check them out in-store, a distinct timbre of Alex Turner’s voice stretching over him in a soft, seductive blanket as the record he picked up spun on the player, voluntarily put on by Harry, who was curious about his friend’s choice. 

Speaking of Harry, he was sitting in the armchair, doing God knows what on his phone, getting through the last of the ice cream they’ve gotten on their way back. The singer was not going to give his roommate more reasons to make fun of him, and that’s why, this time, he opted for some more adventurous flavours that were bizarre enough that Louis wasn’t exactly sure why they existed. Because really, who would want to eat sesame flavoured ice cream? Harry Styles, apparently. 

Harry’s music taste was no different than his overall aesthetic… eclectic, to put it nicely. While Louis himself was somewhat restricted to the usual box of genres he picked from, it wasn’t the case with the brunette, not at all. A clusterfuck of very different records sprawled in front of him, from some hippie, 60s stuff to the two rap records that in the mix, looked like they were put there by mistake, even if the writer knew that they were not. He hasn’t commented though. Throughout their relationship, Tomlinson made fun of the music he was forced to listen to, especially on the tour bus, way too much for it to be even fun anymore. 

“I guess this is where you’re going to leave me again and head to yours, yeah?” Harry’s raspy murmur brushed against Louis’ ear, sourcing a shiver that spilt all the way down to his toes. The writer’s back was pressed to the wall, secured by his friend’s silhouette, their torsos flush together, heaving chests pushing on one another with every breath they’ve struggled through. Plump lips followed the curve of Lou’s neck, taking their time upon getting to the collarbone. “Just so you know…” The boy mumbled, his lips still stuck to his friend’s skin, bottom teeth grazing it ever so slightly. “I’m going to follow you there, so maybe…” A light chuckle shook Harry’s silhouette, his knee nestling in between Tomlinson’s legs, parting them for himself, the thigh grinding on his friend’s crotch, making Louis’ shudder a breath. “Maybe we should just cut the crap and go to mine instead?” The proposition settled heavily in the older one’s gut. 

Harry was not completely right. Louis had no intention of heading to his own bedroom. Well.. he had, at first. But the plans had changed, as the plans tended to do, especially when you had two guys, one too many drinks and undeniable sexual tension, built up throughout the days of suppressing their urges. Let’s just say that the idea of having a soak in the hot tub only made matters worse, although ‘worse’ might not have been the right word since both of them enjoyed the outcome they were heading towards more than the usual evening downtime. 

There was no time to respond, not that Harry expected to get anything back because if he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t occupy Louis’ tongue with his own, his hands falling to the writer’s bum, securing the man with that convenient placement of his palms, so he doesn’t get away. Slowly but surely, the boy started backing up into his own bedroom, kicking the door open after they might have stumbled upon a few obstacles they haven’t seen coming, although it was solely on Styles who made a bad job of leading the other man who fully succumbed to his partner’s judgement. 

Maybe that was not exactly the best decision since on his way to the bed, mere seconds before he was pushed onto the mattress, Louis managed to stub his toe on a thing that he _knew_ shouldn’t be there, but he didn’t care enough to identify what exactly it was. 

Harry’s rougher side manifested as he dropped all the pretence of being a meek, gentle lover. Well… he could be like that when the mood was right. Not now though, there was none of that soft boy who was scared to let himself go and enjoy the moment. 

Tomlinson liked how careless the brunette was, pushing him onto the bed without a thought in his head, getting straight to the point of ridding him of the shorts he might have put on upon getting out of the tub to conceal the semi he was burdened with. “You’ve made me wait too long already.” He muttered against the skin of the writer’s navel, refusing to come up for another round of kisses Louis tried to instigate. 

Fair enough, Harry’s point was valid, so was the bulge he spotted in his bright trunks that spoke louder than any words he could’ve come up with. A bit clueless to what to do with his hands, he put a pillow under his head, granting himself a better view of Harry, who was now peppering his stomach with small pecks, rounding his bellybutton with his lips, teasing the waistline of Lou’s trunks with an index finger. After a few seconds of that sweet sight, Harry involved his teeth into the mix as he started gnawing on that little bit on pudge that accumulated on Lou’s hips, the muffin top he dreaded, for some peculiar reason, quite a hit in Harry’s eyes. 

Set on entangling his fingers into Styles’ hair, he started tugging on the damp ends of the dark locks, trying to get them away from his skin because well… they tickled, all his willpower invested in trying not to kick Harry off the bed for the unintentional tickling. With all the focus on keeping his legs in check, splayed on both sides of kneeling Harry, a lone giggle slipped past his lips, the sound muffled once he realized that he was the source of it, bottom lip bitten in an honest attempt at keeping the giggle contained, his body still shaking as he laughed silently. 

Confused, Harry unglued his lips from Lou’s tummy and looked up at him, a question clear in his gaze as he looked up at the laughing writer whose squinted eyes barely let him notice that he was being looked at. “It tickles.” The man explained himself, his laughter ceasing once the hair stopped touching his skin. 

Completely disregarding rolling of Harry’s eyes, he sat up, using his legs to entrap the boy, taking the kisses he was previously deprived of, his hand, seemingly carelessly resting on the nape of the brunette’s neck, keeping him in place in case he wanted to wander off somewhere else before Louis was ready to let him go. 

Shuddering a breath against swollen, plump lips that slid away from his, he captured them again, hoping that Harry took advantage of the second he got between the kisses because as much as he didn’t want the boy to suffocate, he wasn’t keen on pausing either, and the determination to keep them linked might have been slightly outweighing the common sense that would make him pull away once he felt himself or Harry running out of air. 

“Missed all this.” Styles’ mutter brushed the shell of his partner’s ear as he kissed around it, teasing the shape of it with the tip of his tongue. 

A shaky chuckle rushed out of Louis’ throat, a series of small, desperate whines chasing after, once Harry tightened his grip around both cocks, pushed together that he absentmindedly stroked with his right hand, leisurely tempo as means to bring them to full fruition without ruining the fun with an untimely climax. “Uh, fuck.” The profanity slipped off his lips in reaction to the thumb dragging over the crown of his erection, smearing the precome that bubbled out of his slit over their joined lengths, providing some much-needed slip to Harry’s fingers. 

Harry laughed as well, sourcing some twisted satisfaction from how needy he managed to make Louis with just his hands only, especially that he was far from the peak of his abilities. Sucking the lobe of his friend’s ear, already foreseeing that he wasn’t going to get the one thing he really wanted to have in his mouth, he pushed his bum forward a bit, striving for closeness impossible to achieve, the two of them already as close as it was physically possible. 

Drawing a sharp breath through his nose, he relished the familiar musk he missed so much, the quick whiffs he managed to steal here and there, not enough to satisfy the craving that accompanied him wherever he went. The tip of his nose dragged all the way down Lou’s neck, setting a camp in the dent of his collarbone, the outline of the bone teased with his lips before he went for it and bit down, bruising up the thin sheet of golden skin stretched over it, leaving his mark for others to see. 

Trusting his fingers, without as little as a look down to assess the situation with his eyes, he let go of their cocks, the lengths springing away from each other to cling as close to their owners as they could, only confirming Harry’s suspicion that they were all hard and ready for the next step he was still unsure of. 

Sliding himself from under Louis, immediately missing the weight pressing him down into the mattress, he pushed the man down, the willing participant right away picking on the cue and laying down, his head resting on a pillow as he let his legs be parted by the taller one, a head of dishevelled locks diving in between them as soon as there was enough space to do just that. 

Louis yelped once he felt a bite on the inside of his thigh, though he really shouldn’t be as surprised as he was, his thighs riddled with a plethora of more or less fresh outlines of Harry’s dental situation, the boy particularly fond of that part of his body, spending uncountable amount of time, always striving to, at least, let his hand wander there so he could use them as a stress ball of some sort. 

Was Tomlinson surprised to have the boy between his thighs for longer than they ended up kissing? Absolutely not. Even as desperate as he was, he still let Harry have at it, like a kid in an amusement park taking small nibbles of the pale skin, slicking his way up with the broad of his tongue before he got to the groin, a chuckle muffled with an obstruction in his mouth, a reaction to the dramatic gasp and the feeling of Lou’s entire body tightening when he, against everything that told him no, dove his head down the writer’s shaft, his throat constricting just a bit as he fell out of practice over the few days his mouth was used for mundane things like food or drinks only. 

Sputtering just a skosh around Louis’ throbbing length, he unintentionally made it worse for the other man to keep it together, every contraction of his throat picked up by the tip of his cock, sent in a shockwave throughout his whole body, a prelude for something he hoped to postpone maybe a bit more, trying not to embarrass himself in front of a boy who was doing all of this deliberately, though he tried to act oblivious to the struggle he was putting his friend through. 

Bobbing his head up and down the erection, Harry omitted the pained cries that hit his hears, audible through the slurping of the blowjob he was giving, acting as if he was too focused on the task to notice the ambiguous whines that might have been both protest and encouragement, he decided to settle on the latter. 

Keeping a steady grip on the base of Louis’ cock, fingers slipping down to reach the tightened testicles, he started gently kneading them with his fingertips, sucking on the engorged head of his friend’s dick before he went deeper, Lou’s thighs shuddering from the effort it took him to push back the orgasm. 

“You’ll ruin the fun if you don’t stop.” Tomlinson finally brought himself to speak, warning his friend of the quickly approaching consequence of Harry’s actions. “Harry, please.” He whined once he got no reaction from his partner, only then the boy letting the erection rest on the writer’s navel, the sight of the throbbing, red length, all it took to convince the brunette that he was, in fact, playing with fire. 

“Was having plenty of fun if I say so myself.” The singer hummed, lips pressed to one of the deeper bites he left on Lou’s thigh, mending the wound with his lips as he fell to the floor, kneeling in front of the friend, whom he pulled to the edge of the mattress, spreading his legs open even further, revealing the main interest of his late-night endeavour. 

“Just fingers, yeah?” Tomlinson tried to convey that he wasn’t going to handle anything more than the most basic variant of opening him up for the rest of the fun, a breath hitching in his throat when he felt a gust of Harry’s breath that pooled around his rim as the boy decided to tease him by blowing at it. “You’re a menace, Styles.” He panted out, still coming back from the edge he was brought to by his friend’s mouth. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet.” Harry’s chuckle elicited another twitch of the muscles, doing an opposite job of what was expected of the boy to do. “Soo sensitive, are we?” His head shook as he leaned to the nightstand and pulled out a bottle that every single time pulled a scoff out of Louis with how absolutely unnecessarily phallic it was, just as if the manufacturer wanted no misunderstanding that this was, in fact, lube that was contained in the bottle, a shitty one at that. With the last bit at the bottom of the bottle, the one Harry had to coax onto his fingers with a bit of a workout, smacking the thick substance to the rim of the bottle for a comically long while before he got an amount he could work with, he set the bottle upside down so it wouldn’t be quite this hard when he goes back for more. 

Rubbing the jelly between his fingers, Harry used the friction to warm up the lube, coating his fingers with it at the same time before he chose his middle one to do the honour of breaking the barrier of Lou’s muscles. 

Gasping at the intrusion he should’ve expected, Louis’ tried to relax his body that tightened without his permission, knowing that he wasn’t helping his partner with the task he couldn’t imagine Harry enjoying. His stillness enough of consent for the boy to continue, the finger entirely disappearing, surrounded by the velvety tightness, the intricate structure of muscles clenching on the thin digit that slowly but surely, started pulling out of the writer, decided twitches starting off the essential process that put a lot of responsibility on the brunette, given that the success of the action was the most significant factor in whether Louis was going to enjoy the rest of the act or not. 

Louis tried not to clench, knowing well enough that it would waste a part of Harry’s effort, but he did, cursing himself out for that, even though it was his partner who brought it on himself, being the teasing little shit he was at the moment. “Don’t.” He drew through his teeth, voice stern as if he was scolding the brunette for curling the two fingers he pumped in and out into the direction he knew would set Louis off. 

His strict tone met with a chuckle, another, final finger slipping past his relaxed rim, scissoring him open enough so Harry’s thick cock could be welcomed with minimal discomfort. “Couldn’t help myself.” The boy pressed his lips to the inside of Lou’s left thigh, using his lips to peck the skin affectionately now that he couldn’t really put them where he really wanted them to go, deciding that going against Tomlinson’s orders wasn’t the best idea at the moment, clearly seeing how little was needed to replace the clear puddle leaking from the tip of the man’s cock with a white one, the transformation he didn’t strive for at the moment, one that would postpone the final act for more than he was willing to wait. 

“I deserve a medal for holding out so long.” Louis, glassy eyes stuck to Harry’s face, his features showing how determined he was to get the last bit of the lube out of the bottle as he knelt in between his partner’s spread legs, the rest of the night entirely depending on the success of that particular mission. 

A smug smirk bent Harry’s lips as he still smacked the bottle onto his hand, getting small spurts of the substance onto his fingers. Thankfully enough, the boy’s biceps weren’t only for show, the manic determination to get the jelly out, finally paying off when the boy deemed the amount he was able to force out of the bottle satisfactory, chucking the plastic to the side and immediately moving to slicking his throbbing cock with the precious substance he fought so fiercely for, much to Louis’ amusement still stubbornly coaxing the lube out of the bottle even if the writer reassured the boy they could do with the spit before they could pick up a new bottle in a drugstore. 

Giving himself a few, lazy strokes, waiting for his body heat to spread to the jelly, he shuffled in between Louis’ legs, supporting his body weight on the calves he had pressed flush with the mattress and the left hand he settled in between pillows, next to his partner’s head. 

Not taking his eyes off Lou’s flushed face, taking in the glorious sheen of his tanned skin, only highlighted with the tiniest drops of perspiration that he knew he coaxed out of the writer’s body with his touches, he aligned himself with his partner’s entrance, blindly hitting the bull's eye with how familiar he grew to the man’s body. “Missed you like this.” With the sweetest smile bending his lips, he pressed them to his friend’s, using his tongue as a distraction as he pushed in the swollen head past Lou’s rim, his whole body relaxing in bliss that spilt over him once the crown of his erection was welcomed inside, his reaction opposite to Lou’s, who involuntarily clenched, only to relax with just a bit of persuading he had to do in his head, halfway focused on that, halfway on the leisurely drag of Harry’s tongue over his own. 

Setting his hand on the side of the cheek of Styles’ bum, he pulled the boy closer to himself, giving him the green light to proceed where his tongue was busy doing other things than speaking. Their lips still linked, Harry thrust his hips, slowly progressing intrusion, causing Lou’s head to fall back, his lips escaping the kiss, much to the other one’s disappointment that was quickly made up for with the softest, most divine whine that had ever graced his ears. 

With the series of soft uh-s and oh-s that fuelled his lust even further even if he previously deemed that impossible, he fully sheathed himself inside of Louis, his hips pressed flush to the man’s bum as he let the bottom get accustomed to the stretch of his erection, needing a second to get over the soft heat that gripped his shaft like a vice. 

The smallest nod of Louis’ head gave him permission to go further, his hips driving back before he pushed back in, keeping his tempo leisurely so the two of them could get used to being together in that way again before he goes to their usual. 

Gaining confidence from the blissful expression on his partner’s face, his movements started getting more fervent, slapping of their skin together more prominent in the silence broken with his exhausted grunts and Louis’ glorious little whimpers he was sure he would never get bored of, relishing in the lewd melody their bodies created as he slammed his hips into the writer whose legs wrapped around him as if he wanted him even closer, both knowing there was no chance for them to get closer than that. 

Feeling the familiar pull in the pit of his stomach, Harry unglued his free hand from Louis’ face where he was grazing the dewy cheek with his thumb while trying to keep the hair off the man’s face. He reached in between their bellies, unapologetically wrapping his fingers around Lou’s shaft, not wanting to be the one to finish first and leave his lover unsatisfied, never wanting that. 

Trying to sync the thrusts of his hips with the flicks of his wrist, he dedicated the last of his focus to kissing the man under him, impressed with the number of tasks he was able to take upon himself without (hopefully), sacrificing the quality in the process. “S’fine. Let it go.” He reassured his partner, keeping tabs on his own orgasm that he felt already approaching. 

Seeing the relief in Louis’ previously focused expression, he felt like they were both struggling to keep it together, neither really willing to be the first one to burst, the reason for that reluctance more the concern of the other one’s pleasure than the vain stubbornness as if they had something to prove to each other. No competition between the two of them, never that. 

With a particularly forceful thrust of his hips, the gasp he got from his partner making his hips still as he was positive, he was pressing onto the prostate, he jerked the man off with his free hand, feeling the warmth of Lou’s come spilling over his fingers, spreading onto both of them with every slam of his hips. 

Not missing a beat, still fervently bucking his hips in and out, he chased his own orgasm, eyes closed, driven by the vocal performance that Louis must’ve kept solely for his sake, knowing how much it got him going. With a lazy kiss linking both of them, too exhausted for anything more than that, both Harry and Louis felt hot come gushing from the slit atop Styles’ cock, coating the writer inside with the last, slow, strokes that concluded the intercourse before the boy pulled his still engorged crown out of his partner, the writer wincing briefly at the unfamiliarity of the emptiness. 

“You make it look so effortless.” Louis sighed deeply from above the guitar he now held in his lap, absentmindedly stroking the strings without any rhyme or reason since it might have been the first time he had one of those in his hands ever since he gave up on that particular dream around the GCSEs, surely for other reasons than being busy with studying. 

That particular fascination turned out to be short-lived, like most of the hobbies he picked up during his puberty, only his passion for writing and taking dick stuck with him to this day. With basic chords somewhere in the back of his head, he tried his best, and if his best wasn’t even acceptable, that was not something he was going to apologize for. 

Harry said nothing in return, his eyes stuck to his friend who looked incredibly snuggly, dressed in a hoodie that was quite a few sizes too big for him, tugging the strings of the guitar the two of them bought two days prior. The melody, although it might have been an insult to call the atrocity one, was disjointed, sounds produced by Lou’s fingers not reminiscent of any song that existed. A for the effort but it hasn’t really paid off. 

The singer had absolutely no right to complain though, it was he who picked up the instrument in the first place. Unable to sleep, still in his post-coital haze, strumming something in the shape of that one Arctic Monkeys song, the first one on the B side of the album his friend got that day, the same one Louis made him listen to so much, both of them got sick of it. And even if Harry seemed to be over every single of ten songs he had already engraved on the flesh of his brain, that one stuck with him particularly well in that painfully relatable way he couldn’t ever admit to. 

Overall, Tomlinson enjoyed their winding down, Harry’s musical endeavours providing him with some non-committing entertainment as he started to go through some random songs Lou had never heard before. The soothing rasp of his voice, laboured in that sexy kind of way, especially if you knew what activity put the strain on his throat, immediately brought the writer back from the high he was in not that long ago. His breathing was still a bit shaky, yet he felt like he was going to doze off in a matter of seconds. 

But then Styles changed repertoire, settling himself somewhere on the tracklist of the album they’ve spent the entire day listening to, especially the B side since those were some of Lou’s favourites. And if he didn’t mind hearing disjointed pieces of _“My Propeller”_ or _“Secret Door”_ , still very enjoyable despite being heard like three million times that day already, around ten million if he was to total the count from the time the album was first released, Harry’s voice giving them an interesting new sound; his enthusiasm was quenched as first notes of _“Fire And The Thud”_ hit his ears. 

The choice might have been random, the chances of that happening probably the same as Styles picking the song with a secret agenda on his mind. It still brought a whole avalanche of questions he never wanted to ask, their situation eerily similar to the one portrayed in the track. Despite the comfortable, relatively warm temperature in the bedroom, Louis found himself getting cold as soon as he reached his peak, brought by Harry’s skilled fingers that always seemed to know what it was that he needed. That’s why, even under the covers, he still insisted on getting dressed, at least partially. And even if Harry’s hoodie, the first thing he found on the floor, did a great job of keeping him warm, his silhouette was shocked with an icy shiver that ran down his spine upon hearing the singer rasp out the line “ _Will the teasing of the fire be followed by a thud?_ ” with maybe too much conviction. 

Louis vividly remembered being eighteen years old (or maybe nineteen, who cares), and googling those words, still somewhat clueless when it came to writing and analyzing somebody else’s words. And while teenaged him had a hard time getting the grasp on the question concluding the third verse, current him knew exactly what it meant. As scary as the ignorance was, he wasn’t going to ask, too scared to hear the answer, and if that wasn’t the cruellest twist of fate, considering the context of the song, he didn’t know what was. 

Shaken up by Styles’ choice of a song to cover, Louis made an excuse that he’s done with that album for his lifetime and maybe it was the case, at least with that particular track. That’s how he ended up with the guitar in his hands, strumming nothing specific, just checking how much he remembered from the two months he tried to play way back in the day. And yes, obviously, his exploration of the instrument wasn’t nearly as pleasant to the ear as Harry’s critically acclaimed vocals and improvised melodies that he executed almost absentmindedly, but at least his activity hasn’t brought either on the verge of dangerous thought process that could result in conclusions they weren’t ready to reach. 

“Have you spoken with Jeff recently?” Harry asked his friend who still busied himself with the guitar, his fingers wandering to the pack of Maltesers that Styles brought from the downstairs. Even with the sugar, he started losing the will to keep his eyes opened, slowly but surely getting himself ready to sleep. 

The question was quite a random one, especially considering that they never really talked about Azoff. Not even that. Lately, they’ve barely acknowledged the fact that Louis is far from a casual friend that just happens to roam around the singer at all times; the topic of the book, still very much in progress, left completely behind and Tomlinson didn’t know whether it was something Harry did deliberately or just a coincidence that the subject never came up anymore. 

Louis wasn’t very excited to talk about the boss, even think about the man for that matter; that’s why he sort of procrastinated the answering, munching on the candy when he finally decided to put the guitar down, slipping it under the bed, so he doesn’t step on it when he wakes up in the morning without a memory of the instrument even being there. 

Styles’ lack of patience manifested, showing that he was very much interested in getting an answer to his question. His hand travelled to his lover’s back, fingers slipping under the bunched up hoodie and thoughtlessly started grazing the skin on the small of Lou’s back, just ever so slightly, acting like he wasn’t affected with Lou’s silence even though both of them knew that he’s not giving up just yet. 

Still without a word, Tomlinson allowed himself to lay down and knowing that his friend wouldn’t have anything against that, he used the boy’s chest as a pillow, the soft touches on his back reciprocated as he started outlining Harry’s tattoos with a fingertip. “I haven’t, no.” He finally answered, satisfying his friend’s curiosity. “As far as I’m aware he still thinks we hate each other.” A chuckle concluded the answer. 

He wasn’t really sure what Jeff knew and what he didn’t. Yes, he never really gave the man more updates than the general complaining that Harry doesn’t want to work with him, continuing to feed the boss that line even after Styles, driven by guilt, started dropping some things here and there. But then, if Jeff was keeping up with the media publication about the singer, which he most likely was, he was bound to see the countless small updates with titles like ‘Watch Harry Styles flex his abs on a hike’, or something similarly idiotic, that very often featured the writer somewhere in the background. 

The body under the older man vibrated as well, shaky exhale indicative of the fact that the answer amused Harry more than it ever did before. He reached his free hand and switched the light off, engulfing the room in almost complete darkness, their silhouettes blanketed with a black veil of the night. “Has he ever…” Styles struggled to find correct words, just as he did by the start of their acquaintance. That’s how it always showed that he was uncomfortable with a subject they were discussing, other than that, he spoke pretty fluidly now. “Does he know you’re gay?” 

Another bizarre question that seemed to carry no significant meaning. Another one of those Louis had no clear answer to. “He asked me about that once.” He reminisced that one time his boss asked the inappropriate question, it must’ve been their fifth meeting, maybe fourth. 

“And what have you told him?” Styles inquired. 

“That he’s not my type.” The writer scoffed out the answer, vividly remembering Jeffrey’s expression when he heard his employee’s response. He looked like he was a step away from cardiac arrest and although the answer pretty explicitly told everything about Lou’s sexual orientation, he didn’t know if the boss took him seriously, it was pretty evident that the guy had problems with grasping his employee’s sense of humour. “Why?” He decided to question the interrogation that felt quite random for pillow talk. 

“Nothing, I was just wondering…” Another pause. It was funny how annoying this way of talking was to Louis now that he got accustomed to the usual, relaxed tone that maybe was just the tiniest bit slower than average person’s talking, was still far from the scattered, mumbling mess Styles was when they’ve met. “I was thinking if he’s done everything to prevent… this.” Soft pillows of his lips were pressed to the top of Louis’ head, 

“So that’s what they have to do?” Louis asked a question, taking a breather before elaborating further. “Keep guys away from you because you can’t help yourself and get into everybody’s pants?” He wasn’t serious, of course, he wasn’t. His teasing only means to provide some comedic relief to the otherwise heavy conversation. 

“Yes, exactly.” Thankfully, the boy caught the derisive tone in his friend’s voice. And then it was silent, nobody saying anything, just enjoying the company; gentle touches exchanged between them with two different motivations behind seeking contact. “I don’t usually do… that.” 

“Why, though? You’re living teenaged Louis’ wet dream, having everybody marvelling over you and you don’t use any of that? What a waste!” He joked, surprisingly effortlessly bringing back that particular period in his life, although it must’ve been because Harry already knew about that; therefore, it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing. 

And even if his question was kind of clumsy, it touched the subject Tomlinson was always curious about but never had enough guts to inquire. Maybe it wasn’t exactly literal, but ‘why me?’ would probably come off a bit pathetic, so this was the next best thing. It seemed like ages had passed since the first time they’ve slept together, even more since they’ve kissed and he was still the same amount of clueless why exactly had any of that happened. 

Imagine being gorgeous, famous and loaded young man with the whole world at your feet. Would you even spare a look at some random bloke that was average-looking, and that was already being generous? Louis knew how he would answer to that dilemma, absolutely fucking not. He should be fucking everybody else _but_ him, people as attractive and successful as he was; Tobey Maguire even if he feels like it! And yes, that particular one was _technically_ straight, but Tomlinson had a hard time believing that there was a person Styles’ charm wouldn’t persuade into experimenting, even if only for one night. 

He had no idea what exactly it was in him that attracted the singer, he sure as hell couldn’t see that in himself even if he tried to. 

“I cannot say that I never had a one-night stand, of course, I have.” The boy confessed, sighing deeply after that sentence. “I don’t know… maybe I don’t do well with separating the physical side from feelings or whatever it is… those never really work for me, it never ends well. You know what I mean?” 

Heavy. That was all that he could say about Harry’s words that settled on his chest immediately after they fell off his lips. “I guess.” He only shrugged and already started getting overwhelmed with his own thoughts when he decided to add more. “I mean, I understand what you’re talking about, but I don’t really _understand_.” 

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.” The bizarre note in Harry’s voice brought back all the weight that they’ve managed to get rid of throughout the conversation. 

Sudden awkwardness overtook Louis, the man started squirming where he laid, trying to lose the contact with Harry’s skin that felt like it was red-hot, burning his side where they’ve touched. The gears in his head turning slowly as he worked out the meaning of Harry’s words, hoping that the conclusion would differ from the one he was scared to reach. And no matter how hard he tried to detour his thought process, their conversation, influenced by the song that Styles might have chosen randomly, only lead him to the very troubling realm of feelings. That weird tightness in his chest returned, having all of his fears pretty much confirmed by the singer, who did that so… casually, it only made matters worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading early as thanks for all those who left such nice comments under last chapter. As I've predicted, it was the push I needed, I'm back to writing after two weeks of struggling to. Keep them coming and I'll hopefully get to finish this fic before it's time to head back to uni.  
>  Keep tight, see you in a few days.


	21. Chapter 21

“Fuck yeah, seedless.” Louis high-fived himself in his head as he tossed a cube of watermelon into his mouth. The fruit drenching his tongue in sweetness upon being crushed with the writer’s teeth. “Bagsy on the watermelon.” He called and lingered around the arrangement for a second, indulging his sugar craving before he went deeper into the dressing room where he grabbed his hoodie by the hem and nonchalantly rid himself of the clothing, exposing his bare chest before his friend who was sporting his boxers only, his already impressive silhouette further benefitting from the dim light it was engulfed in. 

“It really doesn’t take much to satisfy you, does it?” A chuckle escaped Harry’s gut as he still observed his companion who was clumsily taking his trainers off. 

“You would know.” Tomlinson winked, a smirk sticking to his lips, reluctant to leave since the man was pretty proud of that line. “This…” He pointed to the table in the middle of the room, the pretentiously sculpted pieces of juicy, perfectly ripe, fruit in particular. “It doesn’t get fancier than that.” He circled the room and snatched a piece of something he didn’t even know the name of. “It’s kind of stupid but doesn’t it taste better like that? You’ve spoiled me! How will I ever eat an apple that’s not cut up to look like a… bird.” The hesitancy in his words came straight from the fact that he wasn’t ready to commit to a particular species, it kind of looked like a duck but also a swan. Whatever it was supposed to be, it all looked the same when he chewed it up. 

Louis’ remark thankfully hasn’t resulted in the singer getting upset or insulted, all too accustomed with his friend’s sense of humour to get offended with his snarky remarks. Unapologetically, he took the last piece of clothing off his hips and tossed it on the pile with the rest of his stuff, neatly folded, ready to be put to use when needed. “You need to get yourself one of those food styling classes, they have those on Groupon.” The boy threw at Louis before he disappeared behind a wall, taking one of the towels with himself as he headed for the shower. 

Yeah, SURE. He would rather not eat any fruit in his life than put the work into cutting stupid shit out of them. No, thank you very much. He still got back to the plater and ate three more pieces before he followed Harry and took the other cabin, scorching himself with hot water somebody clever left on for him, probably without malice behind the action. Still, Louis, being Louis, was sure that somebody tried to sabotage his relaxation. 

Okay, a shower could be hardly counted as relaxation, but it was more about what the shower was leading towards, and that was… _massages!_ His enthusiasm increased significantly from the moment Harry woke him up bright and early (okay, it was like eleven but it was early for _him_ ), and announced that he has a perfect activity for the two of them. 

Louis still felt weird after the talk they’ve had the night prior, or more the conclusions he reached on his own regarding the chat, so, he tried to get out of it, saying that he has no intention to leave the house, especially that it was raining for the first time since they’ve arrived in Tokyo. And his excuse would be perfectly viable if Harry’s plans weren’t, for the first time in history, inside. 

At first, he was reluctant to the idea which just, in general, was kind of unnecessary and too much. Louis, never really being the person to pamper himself excessively, his fancy shower gel already a splurge in that department, thought that all those spa places were for birds and fancy wankers. But maybe that’s precisely who Harry was? After all, he did a lot of things the writer would consider pretentious. But somehow, Styles got a free pass with that, his peculiar routines sliding under Lou’s radar for the most part. 

When he finally agreed, making sure that Harry wasn’t lying about getting vouchers as a PR thing, he found himself anticipating the session. Yes, he was kind of scared, intimidated even since he never did anything quite like this, the most he’s done were pedicures with Andrew, during which he couldn’t stop giggling like stupid because it… well, tickled. 

After being continuously reassured that it will be fine and he only had to follow Styles’ lead, he _kind of_ started getting curious, not to mention that he hoped it would help with the pain that settled in his lower back from countless nights in his coffin bed and maybe arthritis that was creeping up on his old ass. 

Setting on the full-on luxury of the experience, he let himself stay in the shower for a bit longer than he usually would, knowing that they still had a few minutes to spare till their appointment. The water stayed hot, a degree short of painful; the provided body wash was nothing in comparison with his one. It was still good, as everything was, perhaps better than usual now that the staff knew who will be their guest. Louis was pretty sure that complementary fruit arrangement wasn’t exactly a routine in that establishment. 

“My watermelon!” Louis exclaimed when he caught his friend red-handed, chomping down on the cubes like Tomlinson’s dibs meant nothing to him. “Give me that!” A demanding tone spiced his words as he spotted the last piece in between brunette’s fingers. A devilish smirk bent the boy’s lips, his eyes darting back and forth between the writer and the piece of fruit. He seemed to be contemplating the threat and finally, started crossing the room. 

He looked… fresh and maybe even hotter now than ever before, perhaps it was the light, or the towel expertly knotted on his hip with droplets of water soaking into it after sliding down Styles’ toned chest, leaving wet streaks on the hills and valleys that made his stomach. And if Louis thought he couldn’t feel any hotter after the shower in borderline boiling water, his statement was fully thrown out of the window the second his friend stopped right in front of him, not even two inches of space between their toes. “Open up.” The singer murmured, but before Tomlinson could comply, a slender finger parted his lips, tugging his mouth open so the fruit could be slipped inside. 

Harry licked his fingers clean, smacking louder than it was necessary, especially since the normal amount of smacking would be none at all. He lingered his eyes on the writer’s lips, waiting till he’s done chewing before he leaned down and without any hesitancy in his action, started stealing small kisses that quickly escalated, the two of them sharing the sweetness that settled on Lou’s tongue from the piece of fruit he won in the unfair battle since denying him never was one of Harry’s strong suits. 

The temperature spiked between the two when Styles’ fingers slipped down, undoing the poor excuse of a knot on his towel, holding the thing in place only by wishful thinking. He still wouldn’t take his lips off his friend’s, now back to being gentle, leisurely, with just the tiniest bit of teeth present in the mix; Styles apparently very determined to make the writer’s lips as obviously abused as he could which didn’t make too much sense but Louis was far too distracted to take the role of the voice of reason in that equation. 

It was almost unfair that brunette managed to re-knot the towel so effortlessly, without doing as little as giving a glance its way and still, the thing looked like It was done by a pro. Maybe it was, Louis wasn’t sure how much experience the boy had in knotting towels together, but it looked like a fair amount. “Not at all.” That satisfied smirk was the last thing Louis saw before Harry turned on his heel and walked away, not before rewarding his efforts with a squeeze of his friend’s prominent bum. 

A few pieces of fruit later, the two of them were summoned with a knock on the door. Louis, still just a bit intimidated, did exactly what he was told to do and followed Harry’s lead, sans embarrassing himself with clumsy attempts at Japanese that turned out to be very unnecessary since the women happened to know English well enough to understand what their clients were saying and even reply relatively smoothly. 

Tomlinson wasn’t even sure when he started anticipating the moment, he gets to hide his face from the eyes of their therapists, suddenly all too aware of the swell of his lips, deep maroon of the cushions spilling over him, every cell in his body filled with irrational shame. He felt too exposed like that, women’s eyes felt judgemental, although that might have been his paranoia since the two never made it look like they’ve noticed. 

And of course, they _had to_ see. While he never had anything against a love bite or two, Harry very eagerly giving him those for some reason, they were never really that explicit, never had their author’s name written on them quite as clearly as those bruised, crimson lips that were visibly a recent work, very recent one. 

But then, there was only peace and quiet, especially when Harry finally shut up about the water fountain that filled the room with quiet trickling that while relaxing, also made the writer aware of the contents of his bladder, thankfully only halfway there to a crisis; he could make it. 

Saying that he was relaxed would’ve been an overstatement, his masseuse’s dainty palms did a great job of digging _deep_ into his muscles, kneading them decidedly and well… painfully, in certain spots. He had nobody but himself to blame after the warning he received when he showed interest at the second option he was given, which was described as a sports therapy. While he was far from any kind of sportsperson, he sure felt as such with everything aching as if he was fifty, not twenty-eight. 

Let’s just say that during some parts, he came to regret the decision. For example, when he found himself comparing Harry’s soft sighs of pure pleasure, those with which he familiarized himself very well ever since they’ve settled in Japan for the break, with the hisses and grunts he sometimes let slip, unwillingly since looking like a crybaby wasn’t really on his agenda. 

And if Harry only made things worse for him, urging Lou’s therapist, Melissa (although the name was probably fake, for their convenience), to give some attention to the calves, he was not going to give the boy even a displeased sigh since he just _knew_ that the request only came from the place of thoughtfulness, Styles always as worried about the cramps that returned quite frequently as with the first one. 

“Can you show me how to do that?” Harry’s voice was suddenly significantly closer and on the wrong side. Instead of being to the left, where his bed was, Louis was pretty sure he heard him on his right and the second set of oh-so-familiar fingers on his right calf, where Melissa’s were on his left, proved that his ears weren’t fooling him. 

A groan escaped Louis’ gut when Harry’s digits started kneading his muscles, clumsily mimicking the masseuse’s movements and that might have been a bit too much for him to handle, especially when Harry’s thumb nudged a nerve that made his leg twitch. “Does that hurt?” Styles’ voice was worried as he leaned down and made sure his friend was okay. 

“It doesn’t _not_ hurt.” He played it cool and chuckled, the two people accompanying him did the same. And if the boy thought this was a funny joke, he still eased up a bit, remaining the only one working on the legs as the woman moved to his top half, fondling his tense shoulders. He felt Harry’s hands higher than Melissa’s ever were, boldly invading the privacy of the towel Tomlinson chose to leave on because if he was fine with being naked around Harry, he wasn’t comfortable with his body being compared to brunette’s. 

“Where’s the… spray thingy?” Louis asked from the kitchen, looking around the place for an orange bottle containing the multi-purpose solution he wanted to put to use when the time has come to wipe down the counters as he was satisfied with the effect of his cleaning. 

The music was loud, filling each room through the speakers and there was a reasonable doubt that Harry hasn’t heard him, even if there was barely any serious distance between the two since the boy was dusting the spines of his extensive book collection. His hearing must’ve been better than Louis would ever predict it to be as the boy tossed the bottle at his friend, the man miraculously catching it before it could drop onto the floor. 

Why were they even cleaning in the first place? Surely they didn’t have to since Styles, as in every other house of his, had a maid in the Japan residence as well. Those were the questions Louis asked as well, the second they’ve finished their after-spa relaxation in front of the TV, and the owner got to work, quite successfully preventing his friend from continuing watching some stupid cartoon with his prancing all around the place. 

Turned out that the lady who took care of chores in that particular house, called-in sick and Harry, being Harry, told her that it’s okay if she takes the whole week off, even if she only asked for two days. So… yeah, that’s how Louis was put into the position of a helper, and technically, he volunteered, feeling kind of guilty that Harry was the only one taking care of the mess they’ve made together but let’s just say that he wasn’t necessarily thrilled with the upcoming task of tackling the bathrooms, one for each since Louis’ was left out, pretty much unused, only needed to be dusted. 

The rhythm of the music missed Tomlinson’s ears, or it was the man’s brain that chose to ignore the random playlist Spotify pre-mixed for him because he could hear none of it. And maybe doing chores wasn’t exactly the plan he had for the rest of the day, especially after the relaxing morning that consisted of massages, facials and sauna, but on the other hand, it kept his thoughts out of the subject that he distracted himself from before, the one that returned with twice the power the second they’ve crossed the threshold of the house. 

If Louis hasn’t already had too much on his plate as it was, Harry’s bizarre behaviour from earlier only added to that pile, fuelling his anxiety even further. Yes, he might have managed to forget about the conversation they’ve had before they fell asleep, but then everything came back to him, even harder than he remembered it torturing him before. 

He would’ve lied if he said he wasn’t panicking. No matter how much pondering he was doing around Styles’ words, in how many ways he tried to twist them, it always landed in feelings territory and what Louis knew, was that feelings were the last thing he wanted between them. Well… he liked Harry, of course, he did. Those were feelings as well, but he had an idea that his were different in character. 

All he could feel was stupid because he only brought it on himself, a consequence of his unrestrained lust and raging hormones. But then, in no world had he seen the thing becoming anything more than just sex. Let’s be real, he was far from an ideal romantic interest, and even if he could believe that somebody, maybe even Harry Styles, could find something worthwhile in him, he couldn’t see how the confession of his emotional unavailability wasn’t enough to scare any endeavours off. 

Louis stirred out of his slumber, feeling strange wetness on the skin of his legs that must’ve wiggled out from under the blanket he remembered clumsily swaddling himself in prior to falling asleep. It was cold, wet and sure as fuck out of place, the serenity of the couch far from a place he could suspect anything dripping on him, Yes, it was raining, just as it was the whole day but there was no possible way for the water to get through the roof and, most of all, the entire floor upstairs. 

Without any reasonable idea in his mind, he decided to take a look, reluctantly opening his eyes, immediately finding the culprit at his feet. Harry’s face was incredibly focused, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips as he looked down on two limbs in front of him, poking certain spots with his finger, smearing a mysterious substance in places where Louis knew he had mosquito bites, the itching pretty much begging him to scratch, slightly eased by the coldness of whatever it was that was used to seal them. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice startled the singer who must’ve missed that he woke his friend up. After the initial fright, he still searched for new spots to poke with the tip of his index finger. 

The question seemed to be ignored, the answer not coming for more than it was appropriate with a question this easy. Harry still on the task he set for himself, not thinking twice before yanking the writer’s leg up to find more red bumps to cover. “I’ve bought a… thing for the bites.” He waved a tube of some over-the-counter ointment and squeezed a big dollop onto his finger. “Lay on your back.” 

Louis didn’t necessarily appreciate being told what to do, never was the type to take direction exceptionally well. But on the other hand, he could already feel the gel helping, dulling out the itching all over his legs and if his friend was so eager to help him out with those, he wasn’t going to complain; he didn’t have the energy to argue, especially knowing that he’d lose and end up being manhandled, only amping up the humiliation. 

So, he turned, his legs spread slightly by the singer who started getting the places he couldn’t get to before, going further up with every bite he checked off. “Well, I wouldn’t have to do that if you wouldn’t keep kicking the covers off yourself.” The brunette laughed, trying to rid of the fussy look on his friend’s face. He didn’t hate the offended toddler look Louis was sporting at the moment, but he could use some companionship, something more than thunders thrown at him by a friend who wasn’t a fan of being babied. 

Tomlinson’s face lit up immediately, only showing that he was ready to snap back, impressively fast considering the wooziness of his mind. “I wouldn’t kick the covers off if you wouldn’t suffocate me with your body.” A sickeningly sweet smile bent his lips as he reminded Harry of the way they usually found themselves waking up; Louis’ body nearly entirely under the singer’s since simple, respectful of each other’s space cuddles didn’t seem to cut it for him. 

Harry seemed to sink deep in thought, possibly searching for a counterargument. Louis’ hunch turned out to be correct when the boy finally spoke, his eyes still down. “Touché.” He smirked under his nose, acknowledging the part of the blame that was on him, knowing that he’s going to continue with the crime as long as he gets to share the bed with his friend. “What you’ve been up to when I was gone?” The boy attempted to switch the topic to one that might have been on his mind the entire time since he left the house after getting a phone call while still doing his chores. 

Jeff being Jeff, was a true king of abrupt calls and impromptu plans, although he didn’t get a chance to annoy his client lately, after all, they were oceans apart. He made up for the absence of those with only one call that infuriated the boy for more than one reason. 

Nobody would be happy to get a cue to abandon whatever it was that they were doing and, on such short notice (or no notice at all, really), head to some unknown address to meet a stranger and the fact that it wasn’t the first occurrence like that, not the second or third either, only made the boy angrier, even if he was all too familiar with the process he was starting with that outing. 

But what was he supposed to do? He did exactly what he was told, sparing five minutes for a quick shower to get the stench of chemicals he was using to clean the bathroom off himself, leaving without a word of explanation other that he “had to go”. Of course, he knew that the time he will have to explain himself was quickly approaching if it wasn’t there already. Still, he’d much rather do it later than sooner, not knowing how his friend was going to react to the doubtfully thrilling news that was going to get dropped onto him, sooner than any of them seen them coming. That’s why, besides a genuine interest, he decided to ask about Louis’ evening instead. 

Right now, he was back home, and it was all that mattered. His couch comfier than ever before after nearly two hours spent on a hard chair of a restaurant he ate at just before he came back. 

Louis was eyeing his friend carefully, not sure what he was looking for exactly. Harry looked like shit, of course, taking into consideration the fact that he always looked very dashing and handsome. As far as the scale of Harry’s looks went, he was somewhere on the bottom of the ladder, even if he still presented better than most people at their best. There was something in that face that he didn’t recognize, surprising him since here he was, thinking that he had the boy all figured out. 

Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to worry about it too much right now, knowing that he’ll only get the answer to that question if Harry wants him to know. “I was watching the cooking show, and they’ve made something that looked great and seemed easy so… I decided to make it which was truly a horrible idea because either I’ve done something wrong, which probably was the case or it just didn’t taste as good as it looked.” He started his story, quite an eventful one when you take under account that his friend was gone for maybe four hours, at most. “I ran out of smokes, so I went to get myself a pack, I might have popped into the arcade for a second or two. I won a puzzle.” His neck craned into the direction of the small table that stood in between the kitchen and the living room, a big box laying on top of it. “I tried to do the puzzle, but I got distracted with the wine I had leftover from the recipe, which was quite a lot of wine.” A sigh escaped his parted lips when he realized that drinking red wine, alone, wasn’t probably the most glamorous look for him. “And then I got a headache and laid down, took a nap.” The story ended in a place Harry found him in, very adventurous one, right? 

“I thought you couldn’t cook and weren’t drinking wine.” 

Styles’ eyes squinted at his friend who only shrugged his shoulders. “That’s why the food is shit and my head aches.” The man chuckled lightly, getting himself unwrapped from the confines of the blanket he had wrapped around himself for no other reason than seeking comfort from the embrace. 

It took him a while to get himself fully out, scrambling to his knees, not minding the still not fully absorbed gel on his calves when he found his way onto Harry’s lap, each of his legs on either side of the boy’s hips. And despite the randomness of the action, it was very appreciated by the singer, as if Louis knew exactly that he needed some affection at the moment. 

Spotting another red bump he hasn’t tended to yet, Harry slicked his finger with the clear gel. He reached his hand to Louis’ cheek, resting in on there for longer than it was needed, grazing the thumb over the stubble that he was a fan of, no matter that it tended to irritate the delicate insides of his thighs more often than it didn’t. “You look tired, how long did you nap for?” The boy asked, his eyes staying plastered to those opposite of him, halfway covered by heavy eyelids. 

“No idea.” The writer snickered, his head falling where Harry’s hand started disappearing in his hair, searching for more of that pleasant friction. “It’s all on you, you shouldn’t have woken me up so early.” Well, that wasn’t exactly the case. Okay, Harry woke him up earlier than he was used to waking up but the extra hour was nothing in comparison with the treatment he got at the spa. 

Somehow, he found his own fingers entangled in his friend’s dark hair and even if he wasn’t going to admit to ever making this decision, there was no denying that he was, in fact, crossing small circles with his spread fingers and while the innocent gesture was against everything he had thought that day, he wasn’t going to stop, in fear that Harry would misread his intentions and break off his massage as well. “Sooo sleepy…” Harry’s murmur clashed with Louis’ lips that parted immediately to grant the entrance to the boy who wasn’t even sure if he was going for a kiss. Now he was though, his lips pressed to his friend’s in the gentlest, most platonic manner, seeking the innocent closeness that was everything or even more than he needed at the moment. 

The kiss lasted longer than those small ones ever used to last, breaking off for a second to get some air, only to snap back together for another round immediately. Even the taste of cigarettes, lingering on Louis’ lips, still distinguishable from between the sharp bouquet of wine that did a good enough of a job of covering the unpleasant note, wasn’t discouraging the younger boy from the activity even if he would usually punish his friend’s smoking with the kissing ban. 

“Bed?” The singer asked when Louis finally ended the kiss, much to the brunette’s disappointment. He tried to convince himself that it was more the fact that Louis was pretty much falling asleep on his lap than his reluctance to kissing him that made him break off. “Definitely, hop off.” The question was answered by himself, seeing his companion trying to scramble enough energy to say anything. If it wasn’t for the unbreakable rule set by Louis, he would’ve just carried him upstairs but remembering the anger he unleashed in the writer the last time he’s done that, he decided to let the man walk. 

Just the tiniest bit hesitant whether Tomlinson was going to make it upstairs, he stayed glued to the man’s side, arm wrapped around his waist, feeling like it was tailored towards that particular frame, not the one it was wrapped just around a few hours ago; the sole thought of that encounter paid off with that bizarre feeling of self-loathing that took over him the second he arrived to pick up his new’ love interest’ from her hotel. The feeling stuck with him to the moment sleep rescued him, fully taking over his mind mere seconds after he fell onto the mattress, holding the man who dozed off the second he was laid on the bed, close to his chest that felt strangely tight for whatever reason. 

“I need to tell you something.” Harry looked from above his plate, the fork he was holding in one of his hands dropping with a loud noise, second hand busy with the puzzle they were solving as a breakfast entertainment, doing a pretty lousy job, to be honest. 

Louis’ attention quickly shifted to the singer, tossing the stubborn piece that wouldn’t fit in the place it looked like it should fit in, his eyebrows furrowed in question he couldn’t voice since his mouth was fully stuffed with eggs he struggled to get through. 

Despite the announcement the boy had made, pulling all the attention to himself, he hasn’t said a word after that. His expression seemed pained for some unknown reason, and Tomlinson could only assume that it had something to do with that unusual thing he noticed in his friend’s eyes the evening prior. He had no idea what exactly it was, but there sure as hell was something off and now that Styles seemed to be so… scared (???) to say what he had to say, some of that anxiety spilt over the table and reached the writer who found himself swallowing around the lump in his throat, anticipating the worst even though he had no idea what bad news could Harry bear that would be THAT bad. 

An unbearably long moment had passed without neither of them saying anything, the brunette avoiding his friend’s gaze by pretending to be engaged in the puzzle, placing three or four pieces before he finally cleared his throat and decided to talk, still not taking his eyes off the table. “I was in a meeting yesterday…” The confession hung in the air between them, mysteriously heavy even if Louis had no idea what about that revelation caused the boy to feel like he had to do all… that. After all, he was constantly meeting people, almost daily; hanging out with his friends, going for business meetings and such. A deep sigh preceded the last of the sentence. “A date... I guess.” 

Even when the boy cleared the confusion out, there was really no reason why would he be so weird about it. Louis had no idea what he could say to that, he didn’t even feel like there was anything needed to be told. So, he just dropped his head down and occupied himself with the puzzle, mimicking the strategy of the friend who finished with the distraction and now was the one who stared at the other one. “Good for you.” Tomlinson dared to say, pressured for a reaction, the hesitancy clear as the day in his voice. He was nudging the pieces in right places, more chunks of the puzzle coming together while neither said a thing for longer that it would be appropriate. 

A scoff broke the silence between them, rapid shaking of Harry’s head accompanying the sound before he stood up from the table, kicking one of the legs on his way out. He took a loop around the place, only then sitting back down, staring back at Louis. The intensity of his gaze only further perplexing the writer who already looked like a deer in headlights. Harry’s arms were crossed on his chest, head tilted forwards, eyebrows pinched together; the most intimidating Tomlinson remembered him ever looking, far from the cuddly bear he had a chance of interacting barely an hour prior. 

“What do you mean ‘good for me’?” The boy sneered, a bitter smirk flashing on his lips before he suppressed it. “You know that it’s not… not real? Do you?” Desperation resounded in his words, showing how important it was to him for Louis to know that he’s not pursuing any romantic actions. 

For whatever reason it was, Harry seemed to be needing that acknowledgement and considering that it cost him literally nothing to give it, he decided to do exactly that. “I know now.” Well… he fucked up, he knew he did the second the words fell off his lips, meeting with a grimace on his friend’s face. 

There was a pause that seemed to be dragging for hours. Louis saying nothing in fear of making things worse; Harry staying silent, trying to collect the thoughts that passed his head in record speed. The boy stood up again, taking his unfinished breakfast and scraping the leftovers of the full English he prepared for them into the bin, tossing the plate into the sink, perhaps a bit too harshly, the sound of shattering ceramic breaking the silence between them. 

He didn’t bother with cleaning the pieces of the plate, too eager to come back to the conversation he left so abruptly. This time, he hasn’t sat down, only leaned on the bricked beam of the partition between the kitchen and the living room, arms still crossed on his chest, a metaphorical barrier he set between himself and Louis. “You know ‘now’?” The irritation still very much prominent in his voice, a mocking note spicing the question. “I thought it was fucking obvious already or is it who you think I am?” 

There was obviously no point in answering the question Harry asked, falling in the realm of those that didn’t need to be answered; or at least that’s what Louis thought. To be completely honest, he was a bit out of the loop, observing his friend unravelling right before his eyes, trying to look neutral, scared to add fuel to the fire he unintentionally caused. He just wanted to act cool about the whole date thing and look how it worked out for him. 

What was Styles expecting him to do? Break down in tears? Cause a scene? He had no right to do that, no desire either. There was never any exclusivity talk between the two of them and how in the hell does sleeping with somebody, the act purely sexual, no strings attached, lead to the fight they were having at the moment? All of this was getting out of control, and he hated not keeping a cap on things regarding him. 

“Forget it.” Harry only huffed out and started walking towards the staircase, making sure to stay as far from his friend as it was possible. The loud stomping of his feet disappearing when he slammed the door of his bedroom, leaving Louis perplexed, overwhelmed and in the state of panic, brought by a creeping thought of this being their final argument, the one that causes Harry to shut down completely. 

And there Louis was, left alone to deal with the rest of the breakfast he suddenly lost the appetite for, the rest of his remedy for homesickness joined Harry’s food in the bin, topped with the shards of ceramic he picked from the sink. He discarded his plate in a gentler manner, the piece of dinnerware making it to the dishwasher without major turbulence. 


	22. Chapter 22

“So what, there’s nothing that can be done?” Louis rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to get rid of at least some of the pressure that built up in his head throughout the conversation he had with a woman whose contact info he found during one of his googling sessions.

Thankfully, he seemed to be doing good enough of a job not giving away how much more personal the situation they kept discussing was to him than he tried to make it seem. The key to his success of keeping Amanda, the woman, unaware of his connection to the hypothetical person they were talking about, was the fact that the camera of his laptop was off, therefore his act relying strictly on keeping his voice at bay. It was easier than maintaining a blank face but still was challenging at times to keep himself from voicing his disbelief for what he was being told.

“I cannot tell you a lot without having a look into the paperwork, but from what you’re saying, it seems that they’re consenting to this type of management. If that’s the case, I don’t see any grounds to pursue any legal action.” The blonde answered, keeping her stance professional, poised. Louis would like to say that he was just as composed as she was, but he wasn’t a liar.

He might have been biting his fist for a brief second, frustration pushing this idiotic reaction, loosening his jaws mere seconds from drawing blood.

What exactly was he doing? Working, well… kind of. Even if it wasn’t exactly what he should be occupying himself with, he was still productive which wasn’t really a surprise since lately, he’s been working loads.

The reason behind his sudden professional creativity was far from the usual inspiration influxes that would sometimes come to him, unannounced. It was all a ploy to either avoid Harry or thinking about Harry, and while the first part wasn’t the hardest thing in the world since the two of them seemed to be on the same page when it came to that particular matter, the second one was so far way harder to accomplish.

It’s been third consecutive day Louis hasn’t seen his friend, if he even had the right to call him that. It was… difficult, to say the least. There was guilt, pulsing somewhere in the back of his skull like a tumour that threatened to burst with every thought that wandered around Styles and let’s just say that it wasn’t rare that he thought about him, after all, he’s been living in this guy’s house, every single thing around him screamed Harry. 

If that wasn’t enough, he was going slightly mad from the lack of human contact; the owner of the arcade he had a tendency to wander a lot lately, not nearly enough to provide the daily dose of social interaction, not many of their conversations lasting longer than five minutes with Daichi’s broken English and his own, absolute lack of ability to speak any language besides his mother tongue.

When at first he was convinced that Harry deliberately started coming home later than he usually would, just to make sure he wouldn’t stumble upon his friend on his way to the bedroom, that theory was entirely thrown out of the window once he realized that the boy’s bed wasn’t slept in, the conclusion coming from a simple experiment he conducted in desperate attempt to convince himself that Styles hasn’t basically moved out of his own house just to avoid him. Well, when after the second night he found the coin he placed under the duvet, on the side that he knew was the boy’s, untouched, his worst nightmares might have become true.

The worst thing was that he had no idea what he could do about their situation. There obviously was a way they could’ve fixed it, right? It wasn’t even that big of a fight, although the memory of Harry’s hurt expression threw some uncertainty onto that theory. He’s never seen the boy quite this angry or hurt, not even during that truly bizarre period that seemed to be so far in the past but it really wasn’t. The truth was, he was kind of lost. No ideas were coming to him, no ways how exactly could he resolve the situation, even after the struggle he had to go through to decide that he was going to be the better person and apologize, no matter that he wasn’t really sure what he would be apologizing for.

All he’s done was… well, he really had no idea what he’s done to insult the singer like that but no jabs he’s taken at Harry before, mostly just to fuck with him, got him quite this reaction, which only meant that this was important. And if apologizing without knowing a reason was probably a horrible idea on its own, he was ready to risk it because only now that he was left alone, he started to realize how big of a part of his daily routine Styles was, feeling lost as soon as that fragment was taken away from him.

Harry wouldn’t answer his calls, texts or even the email Louis sent, pushed by desperation. He wasn’t sure of the thought process behind trying to reach the boy by his email address, but at that point, he was taking everything he could think of. The whole thing would’ve been easier if he had any idea where the brunette was residing because it, sure as fuck, wasn’t his house. From what he knew, Harry had quite a number of friends in Tokyo, only some of which Louis was familiar with and absolutely not to the point of knowing their addresses.

Somehow the realization that the boy was so close, yet so far away only made the separation less bearable. While he never thought of himself as a person that would do this kind of grand, dramatic gesture, he could see himself actually going to one of Harry’s friends and apologizing, if only he knew where to go.

He didn’t know though, that’s why he tried to occupy his mind with work, bouncing from lawyer to lawyer, cursing them out after they kept confirming each other’s opinions that there was nothing to be done in Harry’s situation.

The whole idea popped into his head when he was writing a chapter of his unofficial book, quite a while ago. The confidence that Styles would ever jeopardize his career and follow through with the plan Louis had thought of was delusional in itself, the boy numerous times admitting that the sacrifices he had to take for the sake of his career were something that he was aware of when he got associated with Jeff. And maybe it was for the better because from what the writer has been told by four lawyers already after presenting them Harry’s case, without giving any details that would even risk the boy’s identity to be guessed, there wasn’t a lot they could do with the situation since nothing Azoff was doing was technically illegal.

And yes, there was the whole discussion of the moral consequences of forcing somebody into a closet, but then, Louis doubted that the manager was a person who would put his morality above monetary gain.

Disheartened after another unsuccessful conversation that brought absolutely nothing in exchange for quite a buck he had to pay for the consultation, Louis said a quick goodbye to the woman he was chatting with and slammed his laptop shut, too discouraged to get back to work. Without Harry who constantly came up with more and more things for them to do, he was kind of stuck in that cycle of working and then napping on the couch before he could go back to work.

He needed a nap, migraine already brewing somewhere in the back of his head, getting ready to take over if he doesn’t take a nap. That’s why he decided to listen to his body for once and left his bedroom, slapping his bare feet towards the living room even if his bed probably would be a better napping spot.

Clinking of cutlery was the first sound that hit Louis’ awakening senses, confusing the hell out of him since last time he checked, there was nobody else to make such a noise. Blaming the clatter on the fuzziness of his mind, perhaps even thinking that it was just his dreams bleeding into reality, he decided not to open his eyes just yet, secretly hoping for a continuation of the nap since his head hurt more than he remembered it to ache before he went to sleep.

Only when the sound emerged again, he decided that it was something other than his mind playing tricks on him or a stray fork slipping from the confinement of the dish dryer. After opening his eyes, another red flag popped in his head. The light. Even filtered out, some of it still found its way into the living room and he sure as fuck hasn’t remembered turning it on, not that it would be necessary since it was still light out when he laid down.

The answer kind of popped in his head before he had a chance to search for it. And even if that’s exactly what he wanted all this time, Harry’s evident presence, manifested by a constant commotion in the kitchen, summoned an imaginary object, that stuck to his throat, obstructing his airflow. As much as he wanted to avoid confrontation, afraid that any kind of contact will end the way it ended the last time they’ve talked, he knew that he couldn’t just run from it indefinitely and while exposing himself to the possibility of a fight with that migraine still tormenting him wasn’t probably the brightest idea, he decided to rip that band-aid off immediately.

He stirred on the couch, surprisingly enough finding a blanket draped over him; one he didn’t remember getting himself, and while the fact that Harry decided to cover him with it wasn’t really anything major, he’s done that multiple times before, the first time even before they had a chance of meeting each other, that one time Louis thought that Laura’s motherly instincts were to blame, the occurrence sparked the tiniest glimmer of hope that perhaps Harry wasn’t mad anymore, not that he had an idea why the boy was mad at him, to begin with, but that was definitely not something he was going to bring up.

Making a spectacle of himself, just to make it known that he’s not asleep anymore, he grunted louder than he had a habit to grunt, which was already quite loud. Giving himself a few seconds just to make it seem more organic, he counted to ten in his mind, trying to calm down, scolding himself for getting so stressed about what’s to come.

Without any other excuse to avoid the confrontation, he got up, that one spring the two of them might have busted during one of their make-out sessions clicking loudly when nothing was pushing on it anymore. Not realizing how sleepy he still was, the feeling shared by his lower limbs that struggled a bit to hold him steady, he let himself stand there for a second or two, rubbing his tired eyes with the balls of his palms.

“Hey.” Harry rasped out the second Louis crossed the kitchen, eyes stuck to the cutting board in front of him.

“Hi.” He answered, not really knowing what was there to say other than that. The tension between them could be cut with a knife, maybe even the one Harry had stuck in his right hand, working on a task of cutting meat into bite-sized pieces.

It seemed like it wasn’t even Louis who told his body to move, but a moment later, he was already sitting on a counter, quite a distance away from Styles whom he was still a bit scared to approach, unable to get a read on the boy just yet. His legs swung in the air the way he always used to kick them a bit, still not enough to get his friend’s full attention.

There was a shadow of something pained that passed Harry’s face, disappearing almost too fast to be noticed but being as skilled in the singer’s expressions as Louis was, he caught it. “I can’t talk to you…” The brunette huffed out a breath and tossed the knife onto the counter, loud rattle emerging at the impact. “Not like that.” He moved to the sink where he started to thoroughly wash his hands, mumbling something under his breath that apparently wasn’t meant to be heard by the other guy since most of the sounds never reached Lou’s ears.

The confusion was clear on Louis’ face when Harry finally dried his hands and nodded at his friend, urging him in the direction of the living room that was still pretty much engulfed in darkness, only the slightest amount of light making it through to where they sat on the couch, facing each other, stuck in an unofficial staring contest that neither really wanted to break off with words.

“I’m sorry.” Tomlinson decided to speak before his companion gathered the guts to do exactly that. He was hoping there wasn’t a way to read that he wasn’t really sure what he was apologizing for from his face, which he tried to keep neutral, although there was really no way to know if he succeeded.

A scoff broke out, unexpected amusement shining in Styles’ features as he chuckled for a moment. “What for?” He shook his head, asking the exact question Louis didn’t want to be asked. “Don’t steal my thunder, it’s my turn.” Still amused, the boy quickly shut down the smile on his face, remembering the reason why they had to have this conversation. “But seriously, I am sorry, really. I’ve overreacted, and I don’t know what I was thinking.” The words fell off his lips slowly, as if he was thinking through every one of them to make sure he doesn’t make things worse.

“It’s fine.” Louis waved his hand dismissively, ready to put the whole issue behind them and move on.

“It’s not.” The boy protested, the stubborn expression making it onto his face as he refused to be excused quite this easily, undeservingly in his opinion. “I was angry, and I should’ve never lashed out on you because Jeff pissed me off.” So… that was the reason? It still didn’t quite make sense in Lou’s mind. “I just… I don’t know, I thought you wouldn’t need to hear me saying that it’s not real to know that it’s not. I thought I was… direct enough with my approach, I guess.”

And now it all started coming together, and while Louis was glad that he finally got the thought process behind Harry’s outburst, he really didn’t like what the boy’s words were implying. “I knew… I think.” He confessed, not really sure why exactly he did that, regretting the action as soon as he saw his friend’s eyebrow cock up in question.

“Then why did you…”

Styles didn’t get the chance to finish his inquiry before he was interrupted. “Because maybe… I don’t want to know?” The question was more to himself than to Harry. “Maybe you’ve freaked me out a bit lately, okay?” He sighed, finally having an outlet for those thoughts that were torturing him for a while now, less since his friend disappeared and he had other things to worry about.

“Oh my god.” If they were in a cartoon, Louis would’ve seen a lightbulb snapping on above Harry’s head as everything seemed to be clicking in place, his expression indicative of the fact that he noticed the writer’s bizarre behaviour even if he hasn’t let that be shown. “I was wondering what you were on about and I can’t believe I’ve missed the most obvious answer.” His head shook in disbelief, curls bouncing even after he stopped the movement. “You were weird because of what I’ve told you about the… feelings and stuff.” A deep exhale concluded the joining of the dots, an observation neither of them needed, both fully aware that it was correct.

Of course, he was fucking weird because of that, freaking out really. It was strange to hear that, even if he was already aware of the fact that Harry acts differently in their arrangement, being the main instigator of those tender moments they shared, the frequency of which significantly increasing after Louis got back from Manchester. But he justified the clinginess with Harry’s loneliness, the idea of which not that ridiculous, considering how actually fucked up the boy’s with people turned out to be.

He was not ready for _that_ , although ready might have been a stupid word since he probably wasn’t ever going to be ready to hear anything revolving around the topic of emotions and… stuff. That’s just not something he did, and Harry should be fully aware of that after being informed about the issue. Louis did not do… feelings because those only complicated things. He knew that all too well from all his previous arrangements that started going to shit, the moment his lovers even mentioned having anything like that.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking because you’re still not talking to me, but I have a feeling that you’ve blown the whole thing out of proportion.” Styles dared to speak when he understood that nothing was coming from Louis who hasn’t felt like explaining himself. “This was not… love declaration or anything like that.” The boy’s palms found their way to Louis’, entangling their fingers on the writer’s lap.

Louis felt… stupid. Now that Harry was narrating his entire thought process, very accurately if he was to judge, it really sounded dumb of him to even think about the thing in that way. He pressed his lips in a thin line, eyes still stuck to one, not particularly interesting pillow as he avoided Harry’s eyes, fearing whatever he could find in them. “It’s just that…” Styles got back to his declaration, seeing that his friend needs some more encouragement. “You already knew I like to hang out with you because you don’t hold back around me and I can be myself with you… comfortable.” There was a pause, maybe a bit long, but the boy was clearly struggling to find the right words. “And when you were gone I kind of realized that…” He scoffed and shook his head. “It’s stupid, forget it.” The green eyes rolled to the ceiling before they snapped back to Louis’ absolutely tortured expression. The man stuck between wanting to do exactly that, forget the thing and asking about it, although it was unlikely that he would get an answer. “But I’ve never said I was in love with you or whatever it is that you’re panicking about so next time maybe ask me before you get into full panic mode, okay?” Louis nodded, eyes still away from Styles’. “And if you feel uncomfortable with this… thing between us, I understand, and I’d rather drop this than have you all weird around me.” The grip on Tomlinson’s fingers tightened, clearly showing that Harry wasn’t very keen on his own idea. “Hell, we don’t even have to be friends if that’s what you want.” Even tighter. “But I need you to talk to me, honestly; because even after all this time I still have problems reading you and it’s frustrating not to know what’s on your mind, especially that you’re reading me like an open book.”

Harry’s last words couldn’t be further from the truth, it was really quite surprising that the boy thought that Louis saw through his demeanour quite this easily. “I’m not…” The man stuttered. “I’m not uncomfortable.” He lied. _Okay_ , he might have been very fucking awkward at the moment, but none of that came from anything other than this awful conversation. “I should’ve talked to you, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his thumb on the smooth skin of Harry’s palm.

“Don’t overthink it, I’m just affectionate and a bit sappy as you’ve probably already noticed.” Styles chuckled, the sound taking at least some of the weight off their shoulders and sending it away from them. “And if I fall for you, let me.” A flippant shrug shook the taller silhouette.

“You know that I don’t…” Tomlinson tried to explain his emotional incapability for whichever time already, feeling ridiculous even doing that considering how abstract the thought of Harry falling for him seemed at the moment, no matter that he was convinced that it was the case mere minutes ago.

“I know.” Styles nodded. “But that would be my problem, not yours. Yeah?” Louis nodded back at his friend, not fully believing his answer. “Worst case scenario you’re getting a song written about yourself, or a whole album, who knows.” The boy raised one of his hands and entangled it in Lou’s hair, shuffling the messy strands even further. “Want to help me in the kitchen? I’m having friends over for a barbeque tomorrow.” The information fully detoured their conversation, leaving the heavy weight of the previous one in the past. And suddenly, everything was back to normal.

-

The hubbub in the kitchen was exhausting Louis’ eardrums, the amount of noise quite impressive if you take under consideration that there were only three people in the house. From that number, only two were actually talking, the third noise-producer in a shape of whatever singer it was that was pumped through the sound system at the moment.

It was somewhere around four in the afternoon when Harry’s friend, Mao, showed up early to the party, offering a helping hand that was very much needed after the host (and the co-host, of course), slacked the entire time they should’ve been preparing food; not that this kind of behaviour was unlike them at all. Somehow when it was both of them, it got even worse with Tomlinson’s horrible influence on the singer.

Turned out, that it was Mao who housed Styles those past three days. When Louis realized that this was the case, he wished he went there in the first place because unlike Harry’s other friends’, he knew that particular man’s address, tagging along with Harry to a hangout session once by the start of his Japanese journey. Whatever. That wasn’t important anymore. They were cool, the tension between them vanished after heart-to-heart they’ve had the day prior that maybe left some doubts behind but still cleared a lot of things out.

Harry was humming the song under his nose, just how he always used to when he was on a mission, bumping his hip from time to time on Louis’ side, bringing the writer’s attention to himself only to smile at him, his eyes crinkling adorably when he couldn’t help the grin that broke out from time to time. “Why aren’t you cutting the other ends off?” He inquired about the technique of cutting courgettes that Lou adapted, one he was taught by his mother.

“Because it’s wasteful, they’re perfectly fine to eat.” Louis shrugged as he continued to cut the vegetables for the skewers him and Harry decided to prepare, just to bring something they both remembered from home to the barbeque.

Styles seemed to be contemplating his friend’s words, a deep groove between his eyebrows. “But it’s zucchini butts, I don’t want to eat a butt.” The explanation sounded so ridiculous, it was hard to believe that it came from a grown man, the one who still stared at the “butts” with disgust, picking them aside from the pile.

Louis scoffed at the answer, Mao following the lead from where he stood to the side, apparently eavesdropping on their conversation. “Since when?” The guest barked out a laugh, mocking Styles in the same matter Louis wanted to but couldn’t, stopped by an intruder that seemed to have more insight than he would ever predict him to.

Yes, Harry was stubborn but so was Louis, tossing the ends back onto the pile, thinking about the lecture his mother gave him when she caught her son tossing that particular part away, years ago. Maybe Louis wasn’t the prime example of responsible spending, wasting quite a buck on stupid stuff like cigarettes or overpriced drinks, but he knew how to use every last bit of an ingredient, even if only in theory since he wasn’t a cook himself. His thriftiness came directly from the economical struggle him and his mother were in most of the time they lived together. Only when he moved out, they both could kind of let go of that resourcefulness and even then, neither of them did, still sticking to the wastefulness part of the equation.

They were stuck in an endless circle of rearranging the pile back and forth before Louis finally sighed and gave up, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, I’ll eat all the butts, you won’t have any to worry about.” The sickeningly sweet smile he threw at Harry fully underlined the second meaning of his words, summoning a frown onto the brunette’s face before he decided not to delve deeper into the topic, leaving the subject to be dealt with in more private manner.

“Get off, you’re going to break it!” Louis shouted when a person whose identity wasn’t exactly a mystery, slipped from behind into the hammock he was relaxing in, crushing the writer with his whole body.

Of course, Harry couldn’t be any less bothered by these words even if he tried to. They were way past the point when evening transitions into early night, most of the guests already gone, two men other than them still in the garden, observing the scene from few feet away, where they were sitting on garden chairs, one of which empty since that’s where Styles used to sit before he went to the bathroom and came up with that arguably better idea.

Thinking that his words would have any effect on the singer was delusional, Harry too stubborn to comply even sober and he was far from that at the moment, quite plastered, to be honest. His state only further accentuated by the contrast with Louis’ barely even tipsy state, the writer not really in the mood for drinking. “God, why do you have to be like this?” He chuckled, still scooting, freeing as much space as he could which was probably a mistake since Harry didn’t even take full advantage of it and only added to smushing of poor Tomlinson’s body with his own.

“Let me in.” The brunette demanded, pulling on the edge of the blanket Louis was covered with, shielding himself from mosquitos more than the gentle breeze that was really quite pleasant on the skin. “Thank you.” He murmured, face nuzzled against the nape of the writer’s neck, thanking him even though he forced himself under the blanket rather than gained authorization to join the party.

Louis dropped his hand down from the confinement of the hammock, partially to free up some space where Harry’s arm wrapped around him and altogether lack of room for two on furniture designed for one. As they were swinging ever so slightly, he found himself entangling his fingers in the thick fur of Harry’s friend’s Akita that was a real highlight of his evening, maybe even a week.

It was quiet in the garden, the only sound other than the shuffling of the leaves above the two of them, was the conversation the other two had in the distance, the most random topics picked up by Louis’ ears when he tried to focus on anything but Harry’s hand grazing down his chest, fingers struggling to get past the waistband of his denim shorts, thankfully even tighter around his body from all the food he stuffed into his stomach.

“Don’t be rude.” He silently scolded his companion when the boy started taking chances at the button, discouraged after his slender fingers wouldn’t make it through the waistband, no matter how stubbornly he tried to force them down Lou’s bottoms. Even covered by the blanket, Harry’s mischief was crossing far too many boundaries for the writer to accept it and when his protest was met with a chuckle and not much any other reaction, he ended up pinching Styles’ side, successfully stopping the boy from further endeavours other than rolling his thumb on his friend’s hipbone, that touch far more acceptable than where the brunette was going previously even if it still was a bit too out in the open for Lou’s liking.

The time to farewell the dog came way earlier than Louis expected, didn’t matter that it was three in the morning already. The silver lining of that situation was the fact that both of the remaining guests decided to crash at Harry’s and he was going to hopefully see his primary source of entertainment if only he wakes up early enough to do that.

“Come on then, hop up.” Louis urged Styles shortly after the other two went upstairs. Maybe he wouldn’t even torture the boy with the commute and leave him there to sleep if it wasn’t for the fact that he was almost entirely under Harry’s silhouette, far from comfortable sleeping conditions, especially if you take under consideration the enormous bed topped with mattress worth dying over, standing vacant in Styles’ bedroom, ready to house both of them and then some.

Saying that the boy without a protest complied to Louis’ instructions would’ve been a huge lie. He just released a dissatisfied grunt and even further trapped the writer under his body, trying to keep him in place as if there was any way the man could ever escape. “Can’t we sleep here?”

The tiredness in brunette’s voice almost made Tomlinson say yes, pitying the boy just a bit, even if most of his state came directly from the amount of alcohol nobody forced into him. And if Louis, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t mind sleeping under the stars with the crescent moon watching over them, he could already feel the pain that started settling in his left side, only getting worse as the time went by. “You can if you want.” He chuckled, eyes stuck to his friend’s sound face, dreading every single of those snores that broke out from Harry’s throat now and then, thinking that this is it and he’s going to be forced to sleep like that, although he doubted that he’d be able to get any sleep in this position. “But you’ve got to let me go first.”

The complete lack of an answer worried him, Harry’s breathing increasingly steadier, snores picking up a fixed rhythm. He really didn’t like to do that but trying to come up with an idea of breaking out of that relatively pleasurable prison, he came up blank. Brushing the brunette hair back with his spread fingers, gently caressing the boy’s scalp as he murmured him away from sleep. “Can I go, please?” The question slipped out as soon as the green eyes looked back at him, barely even opened, to begin with.

With horror, Louis finally acknowledged the fact that him wanting to get out of there wasn’t the worst part; he _needed_ to get out of there, his bladder already alarmingly full with four beers he got through during the party. Right at that moment, he was thankful for the migraine that prevented him from drinking more but then, if he did, he would’ve probably been already after the toilet visit, therefore letting him give into Harry’s pleading.

But then, the heavens seemed to have taken pity on him and with quite a number of grunts and two or three sighs, Harry slipped off the hammock, landing on all-fours after quite an unfortunate combination of alcohol-induced clumsiness and that surprising eagerness to get off that ended up being the main component of the process, Harry’s stiff legs not ready to hold him up.

“Hello.” The boy grinned into Lou’s face when he was helped off the ground, their hands still linked together since Harry refused to let them separate. “Can I have a kiss?” The question was very unlike Styles, who normally would just go for it without asking. He was still grinning at Louis, his cheeks dimpled gloriously as he waited for permission.

Louis wasn’t sure if the question was an effect of their conversation or just Harry was being silly like that, but regardless of the reason, he was not a fan of that new, careful approach. It really took away from the excitement of being spontaneous. “I’ve been smoking.” He reminded his friend, in case he already forgot threatening Louis upon seeing him smoking with two of his own friends.

Of course, that revelation only met with a flippant shrug from a boy that turned out to be the true king of discipline right at that moment. Their hands separated only so Harry could rest them on his friend’s hips and pull him closer to kiss him. For whatever it was worth, Louis was glad he hasn’t drunk that much, the lack of that boozy note in his own breath that he could taste in Harry’s mouth, made up for the unpleasant taste of cigarettes he was sporting.

Neither seemed to care too much, though, not paying any attention to that matter after the initial crash of their lips. Harry’s delightfully sloppy lips were eager, his tongue intrusive just like he tended to be when his want took the control over his brain.

Breathless, Louis broke the connection between them, shaking his head in amusement before he slipped out from Harry’s grip and ran away before he could be recaptured, not that he would necessarily mind another kiss.

A high-pitched whine slipped through Louis’ nostrils, way too loud after all of the previous ones he managed to muffle with a pillow. Sure, Harry’s pals were more than likely fast asleep and even if not, he doubted they would ever be able to hear the reaction Styles’ outstanding performance gained.

From the hammock to almost falling asleep, somehow they’ve ended up just like that… far from asleep. Harry, barely awake just a few minutes ago, now was kneeling somewhere at the foot of the bed, very occupied with a task he was apparently so eager to do, he ended up bothering his friend to the point where he agreed, VERY reluctantly, terrified of the possibility of being caught, knowing how vocal he gets during intercourse, especially while getting rimmed.

And that’s precisely what they were doing at the moment, Harry’s fingers focused on tormenting that one, particular nub which location he knew already by heart after a whole bunch of experience he managed to gather during their Japan vacation.

Styles’ leisurely tempo was very unmatched with his initial eagerness, to the point where Louis started thinking whether it was some kind of twisted torture Harry decided to put him through, perhaps as punishment for acting like a baby the last few days they were apart. The bottom line was, Louis needed to let go after that long break he had when he had other things to do, like worrying about his friendship and whether it was still a thing, instead of spending his days on wanking and that type of stuff. And yes, his frustration wasn’t really unfounded, not at all, four days was a lot after getting used to climaxing daily, once at the very least. Harry didn’t seem to get it though, continuously bringing him right to the edge and then withdrawing both his fingers and the tongue, taking it all away as if he had fun doing exactly that.

Louis pressed his face into the pillows, screaming into them, driven by frustration when Styles once again backed off, pinching at the side of his bum to get his attention off the high he was so close to reaching. He would beg if he wasn’t fully aware that this would only further encourage the boy to continue doing exactly what he was doing, which at the moment seemed like a ploy to claim the Guinness World Record for the longest-lasting blue balls out there.

Knowing that there’s no way Harry lets it slide after he pretty much scolded him for trying to touch himself, giving his words a punch with a slap or two, he still tried to take matters into his own hands, or hips really. He started to roll them to his liking, pretty much using Harry’s long fingers as a tool, getting himself close before the boy felt that characteristic spasm of Lou’s muscles on his fingers and withdrew them once again, earning himself a pained cry from the writer who was already dangerously close to giving up on his orgasm.

“Please…” Tomlinson found himself begging into the pillow before he could catch the plea on its way out, fully aware how much of a pathetic mess he was right now. This was the last straw though, he was either going to be given what he wanted or put an end to the torture that started getting unbearable, more with the lack of conclusion than the actual act of Harry eating him out expertly.

The brunette only chuckled, obviously gaining some twisted satisfaction from tormenting his friend like that, their activity coming up to twenty minutes in which Tomlinson had a chance to _almost_ come at least three million times, getting progressively more sensitive with every lick of that broad tongue around the fingers stuck inside of him, just slightly brushing against his prostate, avoiding actually nudging it with utmost precision.

An airy chuckle brushed over the tender ring of Louis’ rim, sobering him up from the approaching high and despite the promise he made to himself, he decided to let that one slide, trying to convince himself that it was unintentional. “You’ve had enough?” Styles asked between the licks that caused shivers down the writer’s arched back.

With a shuddering breath, stopping him from actually answering the question, he started nodding his head fervently, the dampened hair stuck to his equally dewy skin, exhaustion pulling beads of sweat out of his pores like crazy. Weak mewls were the most he could voice, fully collapsing onto the mattress, his strained limbs unable to support his weight anymore.

Harry quickly adapted to that position, curving his back in shape he’d be scolded for by any of those posture snubs that prided themselves with their perfectly straight back. Spreading his partner open, he started to nibble his way around the hole, taking his sweet time before he grazed it with his teeth to tease it, smoothing his tongue over the irritated entrance he might have tortured for a bit longer than human decency would allow to.

He didn’t care though, not too much either way. All that mattered at the moment were those small whimpers that barely reached his ears from where they were constantly blocked off by a pillow, the shuddering of Lou’s thighs right before he collapsed only sending another wave of arousal straight to his own cock, leaking through the boxer briefs it was strained in.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep going forever. His lover’s justified lack of patience, joined by the ache in the hinge of his jaw, still prominent even if significantly dulled with the alcohol pumping through his veins, made the decision for him, the movements of the fingers he had slipped into his partner (or victim, depends how you look at it), just the two since there was no need to loosen the man up, more decided, concentrated on that spot they were previously avoiding, the tongue slipping past the rim just slightly, providing the necessary lubrication on top of the stimulation that was not that slowly driving Louis crazy.

He could feel on his tongue that Tomlinson was ready for disappointment, his muscles loosening as if he anticipated Harry’s fingers slipping out of him again. The man cried out into the air he gulped after almost suffocating himself with the pillow when he realized that his friend took pity on him, still somewhat reserved to the idea of the climax since after the torture he’s already endured, he could never be certain what was going on in that head of Harry’s.

Feeling the fingers eagerly pushing at the button in a fixed but fast tempo, he let himself roll his hips again, taking at least some control from where he was deprived of it previously. This time, Harry hasn’t protested, his aching jaw begging for relief as he was tying the act together, much to his partner’s great relief. A dozen of nudges accompanied with teasing of the tip of Harry’s tongue against Louis’ rim was enough to have him coming, painting the bedsheet he was laying on white, extensive streaks of his release covering the dark fabric the only evidence of the torture the man had to endure before he was finally permitted to climax.

“You’re unbelievable.” Tomlinson chuckled from where he was laying, exposed on the mattress since the sheets tainted with his seed ended up being kicked to the floor, not that they were needed in the swelter, only further elevated by the high he was still getting off of. His breathing was still shaky and shallow even after three minutes, Harry spent in the bathroom from where he just came back and then some time on top of that before he went there. “I should punch you right now.” His voice was all but threatening as he grabbed his friend’s chin with one of his hands, getting lost in those glittery, green eyes that looked back at him, searching for every feature of Louis’ face in the soft navy that they were engulfed in, the sun already on its way up the horizon, eyelids back to being unbearably heavy.

Contrary to his words, Louis ended up leaning forward just a bit, enough to reach Styles’ lips with his own and pressed a kiss on top of them, benefitting from the sharp mint of the mouthwash he could taste on Harry’s tongue that even while probably exhausted, still got involved in the mix, lazily letting itself be led by the writer. After their lips finally parted, Styles barely conscious at that point, Louis supported himself on his hands as he kissed up his friend’s strained jawline, letting himself rest on brunette’s chest for the rest of the night, knowing that Harry wouldn’t protest if he wasn’t already snoring.

“Louis?” The unexpected call summoned the writer from the border of the real world and the dream realm he was quickly approaching, a questioning hum pushed out of his nostrils since he refused to do anything more than that, even open his eyes. “I want a…” A soft sigh broke off the sentence that was more mumbling than anything else, Tomlinson not even sure if his friend was conscious. “I need a muffin.” Another sigh, the end of the sentence, as well as the note of absolute urgency it carried, proved Louis right, his companion far from clear-minded. He was well aware that Harry was mumbling in his sleep but he never really quite got anything more than incoherent, chopped up bits that meant virtually nothing. Now that he got a full sentence, he chuckled on Styles’ chest, outlining the boy’s tattoos with his finger, more from memory than actually seeing them in the darkness, salivating at the thought of a blueberry muffin from his favourite bakery.

The generic ringtone Louis and Harry shared might as well have been a jackhammer, drilling directly into his skull when it broke out somewhere under the pillow that thankfully muffled the sound just enough for the writer’s head not to explode, Styles still fast asleep under him as if there was nothing disturbing them at all.

He reached under that pillow and silenced the phone before he pulled it out, fully aware that it wasn’t his own, the lack of the soft rubber of his case fully uncovering the mystery which one of them was responsible for causing him to prematurely wake up.

The thought process behind that decision wasn’t really obvious in Louis’ head, but upon seeing Azoff’s name on the screen, he took upon himself the role of Harry’s secretary and answered the call, lazily putting the device against his ear, half of the first sentence already passed when he turned on his brain. “… and now she’s calling me that you’ve stood her up? Would you care to elaborate on the “I can’t make it today” part?”

As soon as he heard the annoyed tone he hardly got a chance of hearing in his own conversations with the boss, he regretted taking the call. But the damage was already done, there was nothing else he could do but improvise, knowing that the real reason behind Harry cancelling on his new girlfriend just simply wouldn’t cut it. “Um…” He murmured against the phone, trying not to be too loud, scared to wake Styles up. “Hi, this is Louis…” Another pause to think through the plan in his head. “Harry couldn’t get your call, he’s kind of glued to the toilet, really. Puke everywhere, I’ll spare you the details.” A smile crept on his lips, quite satisfied with how quick on his feet he turned out to be, even at however early it was.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?” The annoyance was tainted with the tiniest smudge of worry that was too fucking ridiculous, considering all the shit Louis heard Jeff was pulling on the daily. “Maybe he should see a doctor?”

“Oh, I don’t think…” Louis tried to sound as dismissing as he could. “He must’ve eaten something dodgy, you know how he is with his raw fish and disgusting, fermented goo.” He wished Jeff could see the roll of his eyes that he pulled for nobody at all. “I’ll keep an eye on him, make him me mum’s soup and he’ll be good as new by Monday.” That particular promise was pulled from his ass, just as the rest of the conversation. As if he could cook his mum’s soup!

A low grunt made it through the line, clearly showing Azoff’s discontentment with the answer. “Sure.” The man answered without too much belief in his own words. “Why do you have his phone anyway?”

‘Because he tends to fall asleep under me after we fuck the living shit out of each other, quite frequently lately.’ Is what he wanted to say, in a perfect world he’d say exactly that. This was no perfect world, though, forcing the writer to come up with something else. “He leaves the damn thing everywhere.” The shrug Azoff couldn’t have seen was a bit of an overkill, especially considering that this exact movement made Harry stir under him.

“How’s the book going?” The manager took the opportunity to ask the question, he rarely got the chance of asking since his employee was very hard to get a hold of, especially if your name was Jeffrey Azoff.

Miraculously enough, he stopped the scoff that built in his gut and sighed deeply, covering the microphone so it wouldn’t get picked up. “Amazing, I’ve been writing like crazy.” _Technically_ , he wasn’t lying. He was writing a lot lately, just not the thing he should have been writing. “I’ll send a sample your way or something. Gotta go, though.” Another empty promise laid for Azoff who should’ve known better than believing him already. He ended the call before the boss had a chance to finish his farewell, Louis was pretty sure he said something about Harry calling him back, but honestly, he couldn’t care less about that.

The second he tossed the phone to the side, making sure it stays on silent, Harry turned his head towards his friend, pressing his chapped lips to the writer’s forehead. “You’re an angel.” The boy murmured against his friend’s skin, pulling him closer by the waist his hand was wrapped around. “Too good to me.” Styles marvelled halfway-consciously since he was too afraid to open his eyes, scared that it would push the sleep away before he was ready to let it go.

Louis only chuckled on his chest, grazing his thumb over the patch of hair on his friend’s chest. “Don’t jump the gun just yet.” He warned. “There’s no soup.” That confession made him more disappointed that it made Harry, who might have not even heard that part of the conversation. His body shaking in a chuckle indicative of the fact that he did. “I mean, there is… but I’m sure as fuck not making it.”

“I figured.” The singer only murmured and not even a minute had passed before they were both back asleep, their legs twisted together in a bizarre concoction of limbs, exposed in the grey light that filtered through the partially-drawn curtains.


	23. Chapter 23

With muffled sounds of conversation reaching his ears where he was standing at the top of the stairs, Louis sighed deeply, quite reluctant to greet Harry’s friends where they’ve still lingered downstairs, joined by another one of the guys that decided to pop in for whatever reason. Considering that it was almost two in the afternoon, he kind of hoped the guests would’ve already left. Even if he didn’t have anything against his friend’s pals, he would much rather have them gone right now, feeling all but cordial, the headache still torturing him just a skosh, whether it was the one from the day prior or a whole different one. 

Well, there wasn’t really anything left for him to do but to join the party downstairs. No matter how much time he postponed that event after he texted Harry to ask if the guys were still there, they seemed not too eager to leave, but it’s not like he had any right to complain; he was just as much as Styles’ guest as they were. 

Showered and somewhat presentable, he finally descended down the stairs, the conversation getting louder and more intelligible as he got closer. He smiled at the sight of Suki, the Akita he had a pleasure of befriending just the day prior, approaching him halfway down the stairs, wagging its tail in excitement for the attention he didn’t have a problem giving her. He sat on the stairs, petting his furry friend and cooing almost silently, scratching all the right places. 

Nobody seemed to be alarmed with dog’s wandering around, booming laughter breaking out in the kitchen as Louis still patted Suki, none of the men downstairs aware that he was even there. 

He was already a full-on furball as the dog shed uncontrollably, his black (yeah, that was a poor choice) hoodie riddled with light-coloured strands. It was well worth it, his mood significantly lifted by the cheery presence of the animal that distanced itself upon seeing that Louis was getting up, stopping in his tracks immediately when a voice he knew to be Mao’s, reached his ears as the man threw “How about no butts principle though? Must’ve changed your mind from what I’ve heard.” 

Louis felt like the ground was splitting under his feet, and maybe that would be better than what actually was happening, which was nothing at all. He was still on the stairs, feeling like he was glued to the one he was standing on. It wasn’t really necessary to say that he was already red as a tomato, aware of the fact even if there wasn’t any reflective surface that could’ve confirmed his hunch. 

Running back upstairs and waiting out the friend’s visit seemed like the best bet in his situation, didn’t even matter if those guys were to stay a whole week. For some reason dying from starvation seemed quite appealing at the moment and he wasn’t even sure when he had transformed into such prude. 

Not that long ago, he wouldn’t flinch when somebody walked in on him with some bloke, paying no mind to his friend’s snarky comments about his sex life that were a big part of their conversations, constantly getting meddled in each other’s business, no matter how intimate it was. 

Some of that coyness was most likely sourced from the fact that the guys downstairs were pretty much strangers to him. Really, having a few fags with a man doesn’t automatically make you the best lads out there, yeah? 

Already set on getting back upstairs, he started turning on his heel, as silently as he could manage even though the conversation in the kitchen was still as loud as ever, able to cover up his presence even if he hasn’t tried to be stealthy. 

Still, as carefully as he could, he took the first step up, listening for any kind of comment from Harry, getting nothing. It didn’t seem like Styles was comfortable discussing that matter with his friends either but then, Louis was even surprised that there were more people aware of his… experimenting than he thought there was. 

“Speak of the devil!” Voice of the one man whose name Louis’ brain decided to erase, brought him back to earth from where his thoughts wandered a bit. Reluctantly, he gazed down the balustrade and yeah, here he was… whatever his name was. 

There was no use in pretending that he wasn’t there, the act completely thrown out the window once he was spotted by the guy who seemed to wander into the living room to fetch a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, sticking around the couch before he crossed his way to the kitchen, with Louis by his side. 

A quick “shut up” in that irritated tone he was very familiar with, cut the ironic cheering that broke out where Harry was, just a second before Tomlinson stood by a counter, sitting his ass on the top of it. He took a gander around the kitchen, three out of four sets of eyes stuck to his face with a premium spot at the performance of the blush that was still very much prominent on his face. 

Hesitant, he let his eyes wander towards Harry who was in the process of fixing himself a plate of leftovers the company seemed to have settled on for breakfast. When he turned, Louis could see the apology in his eyes, not that he was even the one responsible for his friends having an idea of what it was that transpired last night. Well, he kind of was, but it was a fraction of the blame Louis carried himself. 

‘Fuck it’, he thought to himself, putting the bullshit away, urging the redness off his face because he simply did not give a fuck. Yes, he fucked Harry Styles, so what? He could hardly see a reason to be ashamed about that and if those friends of host’s were the kind of people to source great amusement from the fact that two, grown men have sex, let them. Sex jokes technically should’ve stopped being funny to them like fifteen years ago, most of them even older than he was but oh well, some people never mature, these men’s shitty sense of humour was none of his business. 

“Slept well?” Mao inquired, pulling Lou’s attention away from Harry who gazed at him with uncertainty in his eyes. It was quite unusual for the man to tease him so shamelessly when they barely knew each other. 

With the new, unbothered approach to the situation, he shrugged his shoulders, legs still kicking in the air. “Like a baby.” A sickeningly sweet smile was thrown at the three who after seeing it, apparently lost the interest in jokes at his expense. Good. 

His socked foot grazed the side of the Akita who sat by the counter he was sitting on, picking from the plate of leftovers Harry arranged and reheated for him, accompanied with Ibuprofen and the glass of water he hasn’t asked for, the singer still remembering his friend’s complaining about the headache when he was caught slipping out of bed. Always so considerate. 

He hasn’t said much throughout the breakfast, mostly just observing the banter between the guys that knew each other way better than he would ever assume they did, still petting Suki with utmost pleasure, every time he lost the contact with the cheery creature, he was urged back with the snout of the animal that wouldn’t let herself be forgotten. 

It was maybe an hour after he joined the company in the kitchen when he vanished, leaving the house altogether, excusing himself with the pressing need to get himself a pack of cigarettes that might have been a bit of exaggeration in order to get out of there. 

The food market was still in full swing when he arrived there with a shopping list he made with his mum’s help. _Yes_ , he might have texted his mother at five in the morning and asked for the recipe for the soup he told he’d never be able to recreate with his lacklustre cooking skill. He really wanted that soup right now though, no matter whether it was just a manifestation of him being homesick or another reason behind the craving. 

Crossing produce stands and somewhat cluelessly purchasing the things his mother told him to buy, he was done with the spree in around thirty minutes that managed to tire him out so much, he might as well have been there for hours. Having a language barrier between him and any vendor he bought from was far from ideal, making the spree a big accomplishment in his book. 

Bumping his way out of the central alley of the market, he spotted something that brought back a memory of last night. Perched on some improvised display, stood baskets of dark blueberries, winking at him, reminding of the fact that Harry wasn’t the only one who craved some muffins. 

With everything already in a bag, blueberries included, he headed in the well-known direction, only then remembering what his excuse to even leave in the first place was. He popped into a convenience store he hasn’t had a chance to wander into ever before and browsed for a bit. Not even five minutes after he entered, he already set the muffin cases and a bottle of Coke he picked up for himself on the counter, in front of a young girl who scanned his items quickly. 

There was this internal conflict in his head, whether he should actually get the cigarettes or not, the idea of getting back into the habit quite ridiculous since even without it, he barely managed to make ends meet. Adding to that was Harry’s disapproval that manifested with fierce side-eyes and kissing bans, neither enjoyed by the smoker. 

Thinking that the doubt was enough of a reason not to get himself a pack, he decided to do exactly that, adding to his pile a pack of condoms he spotted above candy bars he was eyeing while making the decision regarding cigarettes. 

The young girl who stood behind the till looked at him with… _something_ in her gaze, he wasn’t sure what it was exactly, maybe a question she was asking herself but it was quite unsettling. The prickling on his skin returned, reminding him of the looks he used to be given while buying condoms at the age of fifteen, not a very pleasurable feeling at all, especially when you’re a grown adult. _Well_ , it could’ve been paranoia, he wasn’t necessarily a stranger to seeing that everybody is out to get him as soon as he left the house alone, it was kind of a recurring theme with the lone outings he kept to the minimum in the first place. 

His supposition proved to be somewhat justified, although he might have exaggerated the part where the girl was plotting to murder him or whatever. The perks of great stardom he found himself in lately, were slowly catching up to him, the vendor apparently aware of who he was as she gave him the items she packed for him, trying to engage in a conversation that was very obviously in English, that was rather quickly noticed since those were the first words he understood since he left the serenity of his accommodation. 

It wasn’t evident to him whether the girl actually knew him or just assumed that he wasn’t speaking Japanese, it was most likely the second option since she never let it show that she recognized him, just providing some non-committing small talk that Louis was surprised to say that he missed since he started travelling the world and stopped having much contact with people other than Harry and the tour crew, which he still wasn’t a fan of, for the most part. 

For a second, he found himself feeling stupid for even thinking that he’s getting recognized. Seriously, is that who he turned into? If yes, he wasn’t really thrilled about the change. But then, his life was spared when upon saying goodbye to the vendor who occupied him with small talk perhaps a bit longer than it would be appropriate with customers waiting to be served, the girl asked the dreaded question he was asked for the first time ever… he still hated it though, from the second he heard it. 

“Aren’t you Harry’s friend?” Took him by surprise after he paid and was already on his way out, impatient to get the hell out of the girl’s reach. 

He wanted to say ‘no’, oh how bad he wanted to deny any association with the boy whose fan the girl apparently was; there wasn’t really a way she would recognize him if she wasn’t. The word almost slipped off his tongue, but then, he decided against it. See, he would look really fucking stupid now that he literally wore Harry’s merch which even covered in dog hair, was still very explicitly _his_. 

The heavens seemed to be on his side that day, maybe pitying him after the disaster of a night and the morning that wasn’t really a morning at all. He was fully expecting being riddled with questions when he nodded his head, admitting his own identity. There was nothing like that though, _thank god._ She just immediately got very flushed, avoiding the eyes looking back at her the second her hunch was confirmed. 

He said quick farewell to the fan of Harry’s, wished her a good day and walked out of there, strangely disturbed by the occurrence that while very peaceful and chill, far more respectable than the way Styles’ fans sometimes tended to act around the singer, still was very unusual. All that was there to do was to hope that this wasn’t going to be _a thing_ in his life now. 

The kitchen seemed to be a peaceful oasis after that hour he spent outside, surrounded by the overwhelming amount of people. Even the clatter of utensils he shifted through, somewhat cluelessly, testing them out in his hands before settling on one, soothing in that bizarre kind of way. Harry was on the couch, right where he was found when Louis came back, recharging his batteries after that apparently exhausting hangout session with his pals that were thankfully gone by the time he came back. 

Being the sweetheart he was, Louis, of course, reciprocated all those times Harry covered him when he happened to have dozed off and did the same, eliciting a content groan from the boy who stirred a bit upon being tucked in. 

He was kind of reluctant to start working on his own. Somehow, in his plan, he always included his friend who with his much greater cooking capability, was this kind of insurance that the project doesn’t go totally off the rails. If he was a monster, like Harry sometimes was, he would have woken him up in no time, insisting that he was absolutely necessary even if he really wasn’t. Right now, he was just peeling the vegetables, this he could manage; hopefully, his friend was going to wake up before he gets to more complicated parts. 

Nodding his head to the sound of music blasted into his ears by Harry’s headphones, he was dropping allspice onto a piece of gauze, preparing a little packet of carefully counted spices, strictly following his mother’s instructions since that was the only way he could ever succeed, or at least not fail miserably. 

All his efforts went to shit the second his body spasmed at the not-so-gentle touch on his waist, knocking the whole jar of peppercorns onto the counter while he was being spun away from the project. His heart was beating three times the speed it should have, the vibrations most likely palpable on Harry’s skin that was pressed tightly against Lou’s chest. 

He’d like to say that he got a reason behind that wide grin, cratering brunette’s cheeks quite adorably if he was to judge, but he could not find any even if he tried. Maybe his judgement was a bit clouded with the fact that this must’ve been the most terrified the boy has ever gotten him with his stupid jumpscares or the fact that his work of bundling spices was pretty much thrown out the window, but he struggled to find a silver lining, that’s for sure. 

Okay, maybe he was at fault for that to some extent too, pretty much handing himself on a silver platter to a boy who always loved to startle the shit out of him if he ever got the chance. He should’ve known better than exposing himself like that, depriving of hearing that was the only thing that could’ve prevented the borderline heart attack he was still going through. 

“I’m going to stab you.” He picked up the knife he remembered having to his side, playfully threatening his friend with the blade of a paring knife that could barely do any actual damage. “Good that you’re up though.” 

“Yeah? Missed me?” With the silly look on Harry’s face came a thought whether the guys broke out some drinks while he was gone. Somehow, the brunette hasn’t looked completely sober, although that might have been a hangover or something like that. “What is all this?” An eyebrow cocked in a question as he looked above Lou’s shoulder at the (somewhat) controlled chaos on the counter. 

Louis escaped his friend’s intrusive gaze and flipped himself back to face the counter, picking off the balls of spice that did not belong in his bundle. Using a kitchen twine he got to avoid Bridget Jones’ blue soup situation, he clumsily tied the bag together and tossed it into the biggest pot he could find, already filled with the meat and vegetables he ‘browned’ in the oven, although his browned might have been more like scorched in some places but whatever. “Soup.” The time has come to fill the pot with water and set it on the stove and while the task seemed to be the easiest one he had to face so far, Harry’s arms, tightly wrapped around him from behind, made the step quite a few notches more complicated. “Hopefully, if you let me go.” 

Of course, he might as well have been speaking to a brick wall. In that case, the brick wall embraced him even tighter, the boy’s face nuzzling against his friend’s neck, sucking on the skin that was extremely appetizing at the moment, apparently more so than the soup but Louis could hardly see that being true. “I thought there won’t be any soup?” Styles murmured against his companion’s ear, the vibrations of his voice sending a shiver down the shorter one’s spine, the one Lou would deny if he was asked about it. 

Louis was on a mission, there was no time for fooling around. With his barely present cooking abilities, the last thing he needed was getting distracted. “I thought your pals weren’t going to hear us last night?” His tone was sweet to the point of being nauseating, just the tiniest bit of resentment detectable. Perhaps he wasn’t all too affected by Harry’s friends being aware that they were having sex and everything but then, he was hardly enthusiastic about two men eavesdropping on his pathetic cries and begs while being eaten out. 

The chuckle that got muffled against Louis’ skin managed to surprise him just a bit. OKAY, he knew that Harry was barely at fault for him being loud but knowing that boy as well as he did already, he _kind of_ expected the singer to take some of the blame and not… laugh. “Sorry.” The tone of his voice indicative of the fact that he was everything but remorseful. “You have to admit that you were quite loud.” 

The soft blanket of the brunette’s voice was slowly seducing the cook away from his endeavours. Even more than that, the likelihood of the soup ending up being edible was so low, he doubted whether it’s even worth the manual labour, especially now that Harry turned out to be that most delightful cuddle bug he only rarely turned into, the one Tomlinson secretly enjoyed the hell out of. “I wonder who is to blame for that.” He scoffed, successfully slipping away from the pleasurable confinement of his friend’s embrace. 

“Let me know when you find out, I’ll talk some sense into whoever it was.” A scoff was everything he could manage with the heavy pot in his hands, struggling to transport the thing to the stove where the thing was to stay put for hours. If he hadn’t known better, he’d claim that some soup wasn’t worth the hassle it took to make it, but then, he knew that his mum’s was going to reward the effort, even if his version was going to turn out only a fraction as good as the one he remembers from home. 

“Is it bad that I’m not even surprised?” Harry chuckled from above a bowl he was mixing the muffin batter in, very diligently getting rid of every clump he spotted with eyes that might have been darting to the side, where Louis was sitting on the counter and snacking on blueberries, his expression questioning upon hearing Styles’ answer to the story of seven-year-old runaway he was VERY briefly, that dramatic action prompted by the guy whom his mum was seeing at the time. Let’s just say that little Louis didn’t appreciate being bossed around just as much as big Louis didn’t. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great story, but it’s hardly shocking after the ones you’ve already told me before.” The singer grabbed the half-eaten pack of fruit and tossed everything into the batter, mixing to disperse the berries somehow evenly. 

Knowing that it’s his cue to get involved, Tomlinson hopped off the counter and fetched them spoons and the muffin cases he got earlier, the cups immediately reminding him about one of the most bizarre interactions in his life. Thankfully, Harry couldn’t have noticed the grimace that ran through his face at the memory, Louis didn’t really feel like informing his friend of the fan he met, knowing that the boy would probably feel guilty or whatever. 

They were scooping batter into the cups, swinging their heads to the sound of a song from one of Harry’s playlists. It’s been a while since any of them spoke, too focused on the task that theoretically was Louis’ to complete, the agreement made when Styles agreed to make the actual batter after being teased about his experience of working in a bakery, the random fact from his life he never failed to bring up while drunk. Okay, he might have been standing behind the till for the most part, but as it turned out, he was skilled enough to be able to whip out muffin batter with no googling whatsoever, which was quite an achievement in Lou’s eyes. 

“We’d have so much fun if we met as kids.” Styles scoffed out of nowhere, nudging his friend with an elbow, causing the writer to spill some batter off his spoon. 

Louis would lie if he said that he thought about that before, but then, it wasn’t shocking that Harry did, he had a tendency to come up with things that nobody else would ever stumble upon in their thoughts. “I can see myself having fun with younger Harry, yeah.” He nodded, now it was he who wandered back in time, imagining the brunette as one of his pals. “Your mummy wouldn’t let you hang out with me… and you wouldn’t have protested.” His gaze trailed to the boy who was already looking at him. His eye winked at the host who stared with a question on his face. 

“Why is that?” 

“You’d wet the bed after playdates.” Louis chuckled. “Some of my mates were terrified of me.” His head shook when he remembered the neighbourhood kids he used to play with, some of them still keeping in contact whenever he’d pop in to visit his mum. 

“What? Why?” The boy seemed both interested and very surprised, although he really shouldn’t have been shocked. Not after the stories he already heard. 

“I don’t know…” Oh, he knew. “They see you debone a chicken at twelve-years-old and the next thing you know, you’re jack the ripper or whatever.” Okay, maybe he was a bit more skilled with a knife than a kid his age should’ve been, but he was far from a murderer! “You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to get what I wanted back then. I only had to raise my voice, and let’s just say that I was VERY short-tempered.” 

“Is that what your hobbies were? Butchering?” Amusement was evident in Harry’s voice as he scraped the bowl clean from the batter, putting the last of it into a cup. 

“Hobbies? Absolutely not.” He physically cringed at the memory of cutting up dead animals. 

“Pals said I was crazy, mum claimed we were cost-efficient.” 

“Have you struggled with money when you were growing up?” The question seemed to have left his lips before Harry decided whether it was a good idea. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that it was effortless for them to talk, didn’t matter what they were talking about. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He shook his head upon realizing that maybe it was rude of him to inquire. 

Louis dismissed him with a gesture of a hand, way past the point where he would refuse to tell the boy anything he asked about. “Yeah, we were broke.” Contrary to his words, he smiled at the memory of his childhood. “Mum always made sure I had everything I needed before she took care of herself. But then, what I needed and wanted were two different things and being a kid… I wasn’t very understanding of her.” The guilt that always returned when he brought back the memories of lashing out on his mother for some genuinely ridiculous reasons, didn’t fail him this time either. “My… boyfriends came through in that department though.” The attempt at sounding less tortured than he thought he would, failed miserably, the cheery note in his voice very apparently fake, both of them aware of that. 

The door of the oven was slammed closed, the muffins already inside as Harry toed his way back to the counter Louis was leaning on. There was something pensive hidden in his eyes, something regretful as well. His left hand rested on his friend’s waist, the other one reaching for the cheek, covered by a stubble that in its toughness, was everything its owner wasn’t at the moment. “I wish you didn’t have to do all that.” The sincerity was loud and clear, even in his quiet murmur, a sigh brushing over Lou’s chin. 

“I didn’t have to, though. It was all on me.” He responded with a sigh, biting down on his bottom lip to distract himself from the obstruction in his throat, urging away the tears that weren’t exactly there yet, but he knew that it was the next step in his humiliation. 

It was a mystery to him what in the process of making soup and muffins made him such a fragile mess, almost crying over issues he never thought to be quite as tremendous in his past as he made them look to be at the moment. He was half expecting Harry to be disgusted with him right now, even if he only got a glimpse of that treatment upon being caught with a cigarette in his mouth. He was just tired, that’s what it must’ve been, the migraine, the sleep deprivation, Harry’s gentle fingers, the melancholic melody of a song that accompanied this tender moment only further fuelling whatever it was that overtook him. “We all have some demons in our past, don’t we? Some things we regret.” The boy pressed his lips together, curving them to resemble a smile even if he was still, very obviously worried. 

Louis wasn’t sure about that claim. Of course, he had a lot of shit on his account, but he doubted that Harry had any of that. “Yeah, what did you do? Stole a cookie when your mum wasn’t looking?” The scoff broke out before he could stop it, too artificial to make some significant difference in the tone of the conversation. He tried, though, his effort not paying off, at all. 

Seeing the smaller guy struggle to get on his tippy toes, Styles hoisted his friend up onto the counter, without a thought settling himself in between Lou’s spread legs that opened for him with the same absentmindedness. Harry smiled, this time for real. It was obvious that he didn’t want to answer, perhaps the weight of his past bigger than the writer would ever expect it to be. “Broke some hearts.” A sigh concluded the confession that was quite underwhelming in the sense that Louis would expect precisely that from the boy. Hell, he most likely broke more hearts than he realized. “Trusted some people I shouldn’t have…” A grimace twisted his face at the memory he brought back. “You and me… we’re not as different as you think we are.” 

The kiss that happened next, seemed like means to cut the topic where it barely started, gentle, berry-flavoured lips rubbing against each other, a big hand trailing the length of the writer’s spine, making sure the man doesn’t pull back. He still managed to do exactly that, glassy eyes stuck to his friend’s that made him seem preoccupied with something, contemplating. 

Louis was getting ready to say something, not exactly sure what there was to say since making fun of the confession that seemed to weigh heavy on the singer who apparently was still pondering over the subject, was everything but appropriate. “The guilt gets worse once you realize how it is to be on the opposite end of the equation, you know?” Eager fingers started knitting themselves in between Louis’. 

The discouraged look in those green eyes of Harry’s was begging him to say that he knows what he meant. Did he know how it was to break somebody’s heart? All too well. But he knew better than to live in delusion that this was what the boy was asking about, his hopeful eyes, staring back at him, saying everything there was to say. 

“I can’t say that I do, no.” It was that moment where, for the first time, he wished that he knew how it is to have your heart broken. Just so his friend didn’t have to be so alone with this weight he carried. The guilt crashing down on him upon seeing the torture in Harry’s features, the one he swept beneath the rug in no time, smirking without too much belief in his own expression. 

“Of course, you don’t.” His head shook, hair brushing Lou’s face. “I will keep asking, though, in case you ever change your mind.” A chuckle broke out unexpectedly, very out of place in their conversation that might have been the heaviest one they’ve had to date. 

The infectious smirk spread immediately, bending Louis’ lips, eyes crinkling along with the grin that felt oddly fitting even if it wasn’t, especially considering the confession that was just laid on his shoulders. “You do that.” The encouragement seemed to have worked, Harry’s dimples making an appearance as he got closer, lips brushing against each other before they clung together for no longer than five seconds. Short, chaste kisses, the sweetest thing around, even including the smell of baked muffins they were surrounded by. “You’ll be the first one to know if it ever changes.” The pads of his fingers stuck to Styles’ face, thumbs rubbing over the unkempt facial hair the boy was sporting during the vacation. The same one Louis once called a ferret, now far more appealing than previously. 

“Did your mum know about you… your boyfriends?” The question broke out from above Louis’ head, resting on Harry’s lap, opening and closing only to receive pieces of the muffin that were placed on his tongue by the boy who kept shredding their little project, still warm since they’ve barely taken the treats out of the oven. 

The end result of their baking journey was exceeding all expectations the writer had. Fair, the muffins were quite the ugly ducklings, some of them a bit too brown, deformed from the fact that Louis forgot, or maybe never really learned about the fact that something in a shape of muffin tin could be useful to keep the batter contained in the cups. Other than the matter of their unusual shape that only made them more _theirs,_ they were good, maybe not exactly up to the standard of his favourite bakery, their ones coming with that weird aftertaste caused by the fact that both of them added baking powder without consulting each other, but they were enough to scratch the itch for the time being.

Louis scoffed, way cheerier approach to the topic that made him feel so shitty not that long ago. There was something about Harry that made it so easy for the boy to shape the atmosphere however he wanted to shape it. “Of course, she didn’t.” He laughed, only wondering what the boy above him had to think about his mum, for whom he always had nothing but sympathy. “She would’ve put me in a chastity belt.” The relief was almost visible in his features once he was reassured that his friend’s mother didn’t consent to her son selling his ass for fancy gifts. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly the case. While the gifts were a pleasant bonus, they were never his primary motivator to sleep with anyone. Maybe he was depraved, some people would say that… most people probably. He was guilty of a lot of things. Starting his sexual endeavours a bit earlier than appropriate? Obviously. Poorly choosing partners for himself? Of-fucking-course. But he wasn’t a rent boy, that’s not a thing he would ever deem himself, absolutely not. 

“Good.” Styles placed a piece of their shared muffin on his own tongue, gaining himself a side-eye for thinking that he wouldn’t be caught skipping Tomlinson’s turn. “That’s what you needed.” He chuckled, redeeming his offence with three pieces he fed his friend. 

“Hey, you don’t get to complain.” The brunette’s eyebrows pinched together in a question. “You enjoy my lips way too much to complain. I haven’t been born with that gift!” 

“It’s really a miracle you haven’t caught the clap.” The green eyes rolled to the ceiling, only to land back at his friend. “Or have you?” A chuckle bubbled out of his throat, clearly not expecting an affirmative answer. 

Louis, being Louis, tried to look guilty of that offence, not even close to fooling his friend with the lousy act. “Don’t you worry that big head of yours about that.” The reassuring wasn’t exactly necessary. As two, somewhat responsible adults, they had that conversation way back. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” Harry explained the reason why he skipped three of Louis’ turns with the muffins. 

OKAY, maybe he ate like six on his own but since when was there a limit in the first place?

No handbook specified the limit of muffins one could eat in one seating, was there? But then, maybe Harry, as a former baker, had an insight into these particular regulations? Or more like side effects of baking powder overdose that was a viable threat at the moment. 

“How’d you explain the gifts, though?” Tomlinson wouldn’t say that he was ecstatic to come back to the topic he considered over already, way too cosy on the couch, snuggled to Harry who miraculously fit next to him and now was grazing his fingers over his side, eyes stuck to his friend’s face. 

He kind of hoped Styles would apologize without reason, like he used to sometimes and give him a way out of answering the question that in itself, wasn’t exactly very intrusive or anything like that but it still was an opening for more questions to be asked, all revolving around the past he did not want to reminisce, at all. But he didn’t look like he was about to do that. “I told her I was working.” He answered, using a sigh as a dot in the sentence. “Small stuff. Mowing lawns, doing grocery runs for older folks, babysitting even for a while but that was brief, couldn’t stand those brats.” 

The frown on Harry’s face was quickly caught by the writer who was a side in this staring contest none of them knew who instigated. It was only a twitch in the dreamy expression that was almost a permanent feature on his face since he woke up, but it hasn’t gone unnoticed. “You don’t like kids?” 

Was that it? That’s what deserved quite the reaction? Out of borderline sugar baby role he adapted as a kid, being a horrible brat altogether and exploiting other people’s troubled pasts for monetary gain… _this_ was what got the strongest reaction? It wasn’t even the truth in the first place, at least not entirely. “Depends on a kid, I guess. Or maybe parents, honestly.” His eyes rolled ostentatiously, thinking about a particularly spoiled brat he had to deal with once, his last babysitting gig and _yes_ , that kid was the reason why it was the last one. “I don’t hate kids in general, no.” A smirk bent his lips when he noticed a similar expression on his friend’s face. “What’s with the interrogation anyway?” His eyebrow shot up, urging an answer from Styles who looked like he wasn’t very keen on giving him one. 

The boy knew better than to think that Louis would let him leave the question unanswered. Not in a million years. “I don’t know… Just realized that I know virtually nothing about you.” The broad shoulders shrugged to the best of their ability, which wasn’t very spectacular since the boy was laying, propped up on an elbow. “I guess I know some things, but then I know nothing. Like… was your dad around? How you were at school… that kind of thing.” 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that I never met my father.” He frowned, vividly remembering the conversation they’ve had on one of their LA hikes, the one where they dove into his family business, perhaps more profound than he would like them to be. He didn’t share Harry’s outlook on that situation. In his mind, his friend knew a bunch of stuff about him, some of which very personal. 

But he never really was a talker, even his best mates not knowing some of the stuff Styles knew, so he really should be glad that he was entrusted with what he was already told. Let’s remember that by the start of their friendship, Louis had no intention to ever tell him anything. 

“Maybe…” A pensive look welcomed Styles’ face, apparently trying to recall the chat Louis was thinking about. “I wasn’t paying too much attention to your words back then.” 

That was… surprising. All this time, he had Harry for that attentive listener who soaked up every word that fell off his lips but now… some doubt was shed on that persona. 

Harry must’ve caught the slightly exaggerated outrage on his friend’s face, rushing with an explanation. “Don’t get offended.” Yeah, _right._ Kind of hard not to when you’re pretty much being told that you’re not that interesting of a conversationalist. “I just thought it would be easier that way.” 

Now he was… confused. “Easier to what?” 

“Not to like you, I guess.” Another shrug. 

“And why wouldn’t you want to like me? I’m delightful!” Tomlinson argued, pushing something cheery into his voice, sensing that his friend could use something like that. 

“Precisely, that’s why.” The expression on his face eased up significantly, fondness very much prominent in his glistening eyes. “I knew we would get along well, and that’s what scared me off.” Harry confessed, his hand travelling up, slender fingers caressing the side of Lou’s neck. The writer was clearly confused with the words he just heard, not really following the thought process behind his friend’s decision. Of course, Styles, now much more attentive than by the start of their friendship, immediately noticed what was going on. “I thought it would be harder to keep things secret if I grew to like you… I was right, wasn’t I?” 

“As always.” The decision to tickle Styles’ ego came out of nowhere, just like that. It was bizarre since, in normal circumstances, Louis was the last one to admit somebody else’s right but his own. “You’re not getting paid to get to know me though.” That argument felt… bitter when it slipped off his tongue. No matter how reluctant the two of them were to acknowledge that, money was really the only reason why Tomlinson was there, why they’ve met in the first place. 

The mood spread to Harry, his face suddenly wretched, even if for a second that it took the boy to cover the expression with the blandest kind of neutral. “Is that all there is? Money?” 

A few weeks ago, Louis would’ve broken Harry’s heart even further with the answer he would have to the question he was asked. But not now, a lot of things had changed since they’ve settled in Tokyo, a lot of conversations were had, a lot of adventures instigated by the singer, a lot of nights spent together. 

Seeing the frown forcing itself back on Styles’ face, he shook his head, not to keep the boy uncertain any longer than it was necessary. “You know that it’s not.” 

Louis could almost see the weight being taken off his friend’s shoulders, most of the uneasiness gone from his face, trembling fingers back to tracing shapes down the writer’s side. “You think we could stay friends after this is over?” 

So… he was given another chance to hurt the boy and while his conscience wouldn’t let him take the first one without lying, this time it was completely opposite. Every decision that led to that moment started being regretted the second that hopeful glimmer shone in the green looking back at him. The icy trepidation almost solidified between the two of them, Louis’ pained expression enough of an answer to that question, Harry’s face similarly wounded when he realized that it was probably everything he was getting. “I don’t think you’ll want anything to do with me when the book’s done.” 

No matter how hard it was to even imagine that boy resenting him to the point of altogether erasing him from his life, Louis knew that he was right. That sliver of understanding he could detect in Harry’s eyes only saying that the idea wasn’t abstract to him either. And it only hurt more because that poor soul didn’t even know half of the shit that was kept from him. What was worse, with every day they were getting closer, the weight of the guilt he previously pushed completely to Jeff’s side, was slowly shifting, catching up with him to the point it now entirely laid on Lou’s side of the scale. 

Unfortunately, he would’ve lied if he said that he hasn’t thought about that before. He had, a whole fucking lot. Even if he was busy, which he was quite often in Japan, the thought of the secret that he carried on his shoulders, the one that more than likely will be the end of that particular friendship, always was there, in the back of his head, following them like a bad omen Harry wasn’t aware of, bound to find out about sooner or later. 

“I’m not going to read it, you know?” A rasp broke out, overpowering a song none of them was paying attention to, just staring somewhere in the distance, both equally lost in their thoughts, revolving around the same issue. The idea of parting ways after so many days spent together was barely imaginable at this point. “The book.” He explained after seeing that uncertainty in his friend’s eyes. 

The confusion was in no way caused by Harry’s statement, of course, he knew damn well that he was talking about the book. It was the idea that seemed so stupid. “So what, you’re just going to let Jeff release whatever he wants?” A scoff that broke out was very out of place where they laid together. Louis, as usual, halfway squished by his friend’s body, not minding the confinement at all, especially with gentle fingers still grazing the side of his neck. 

“You think I have more say than I actually do.” The boy grimaced. “I don’t want to taint… all this. I want to remember us just like that.” Corners of his lips raised just slightly. He leaned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of Louis’ jaw. 

“If I were you…” He stalled, thinking whether he even has the right to say what he wanted to say, to give his friend any advice when he was never in this kind of situation. “I would’ve let all of this go and disappear.” A chuckle left his throat once he realized how unrealistic it was for Harry to go off the grid like that. 

“Remember when I told you that I couldn’t ever do that?” His murmur settled on Louis’ ear in a mist, the tip of his nose following the curve of his friend’s small auricle. “Somehow, that idea doesn’t sound half as crazy lately.” Lips pressed just below the earlobe, caressing the skin as the writer swallowed hard, contemplating the meaning of words that were laid on his skin, the dew of Harry’s sweet breath imprinted below his ear in a way that made him think whether he would ever be able to get rid of it. Soft kisses might as well have been inked under his skin with how fitting they felt where they were laid. 


	24. Chapter 24

“Come on! We’re late already!” Louis took upon himself the unusual role of the one who urged the other to wake up, although they were awake for quite a while now. Harry was just very reluctant to leave the bed, half from the cuddly mood he woke up in, half from the fact that this was the first time in weeks that he had to actually _work_. 

Okay, maybe the podcast he was scheduled to record with some apparently important Japanese outlet Louis couldn’t say he knew, was hardly considered work if you take into account the turmoil the boy was engaged in on his usual workdays, but it was a change in the routine of doing barely anything they got used to. Not an appreciated shift. 

“One more song?” The boy pleaded, just his eyes peeking as he lifted the corner of the pillow Louis might have tried to smother him with just a minute ago, frustrated that none of his efforts seemed to affect his friend at all. 

Louis shook his head, knowing better than to consent to that plot. “Look me in the eyes and promise you don’t have the longest song available in the queue.” 

Of course, Tomlinson was right. Harry letting the pillow fall back onto his face was the only answer he needed. “Well… not _the longest._ ” The words were barely audible where they got lost between the feathers filling the pillowcase. 

So he wasn’t entirely _right._ Honestly, he would’ve expected his friend to do a Google search before trying to reach that agreement, but apparently Harry was positive he would succeed and decided not to go full-on. 

Curious, Louis reached for the boy’s phone that was laying in between the two of them and unlocked it with a password he learned quite a while ago. And there it was, perched on top of the queue, totalling a little short of twenty-four minutes, _Echoes_ by Pink Floyd. Of course, Harry would go with his old faithful for the challenge of finding the longest song.

Frankly, he was too exhausted with Harry’s bullshit to even comment on that. The phone was locked back and tossed to the place where it previously laid. Seeing that his efforts were not yielding any satisfactory results, he uncrossed his legs and got up from where he sat on the mattress, dressed and ready to go while his friend was still… miles from that, let’s just say that. 

People who were awaiting them, most likely wouldn’t have anything against their guest showing up in his birthday suit, but Louis would. Harry’s management most likely too, although he wasn’t exactly sure to what lengths Jeff would go in his constant chase to keep his client relevant in the media, especially now that the singer wasn’t doing too many appearances, to begin with. 

Harry started grunting once Louis left the bedroom, very much unappreciative of his friend’s departure, the reaction quite predictable, to be honest. It wasn’t long after the writer descended down the stairs and started rummaging through the kitchen, searching for something to eat, that Styles joined him there, looking exactly like you could imagine him looking since he literally just rolled out of bed. 

He was wearing a pair of dark jeans, the bottoms frayed from extensive use and an unimpressive, loose-fitting black t-shirt. The whole outfit was surprisingly bland for that particular boy, pedestrian even. And while the simplicity of the ensemble could’ve easily been blamed on the fact that they were already late, Louis had a hard time believing that it was only this. “Oh, are we matching?” Harry’s eyebrow cocked up as he looked at his friend, perched on the counter, shoving fistfuls of cereal into his mouth. 

See, Louis tried to look unbothered with the fact that his friend was taking the piss out of him, for whatever reason very keen on doing exactly that since they woke up. His efforts were futile. There was no point in denying his exasperation, clear as the day in his features. “The car’s outside.” He only announced, hopping off the counter, taking a handful of chocolate cereal for the road. 

“You should call me if you ever think of changing the line of work.” Harry teased while he followed his friend who in last effort not to look like a fool, every defect of his body accentuated when he stood next to the singer wearing the same thing, grabbed the sweater his friend wore the day prior off the couch they were passing and threw it on, the bagginess of it doing a great job of concealing whatever it was that his body was lacking in contrast with his companion, a whole fucking lot. “I think you’d make an excellent personal assistant.” Harry elaborated. “Just the right amount of annoying, what a natural.” The brunette scoffed, absentmindedly covering the majority of the small of Lou’s back with his big palm as they left the house, quickly getting into the Uber that came to pick them up, managing to get quite wet from the rain that poured down on the city. 

“How are you so bad at cooking even in a video game?!” Harry exclaimed and kicked his legs in exasperation, his socked foot barely missing Louis’ jaw as the two of them watched their chances to complete the round burn down, along with the soup that Louis hasn’t paid enough attention to even if that was the only job he had to do, their tasks dispersed quite unevenly and yet, the sous chef was the one who failed either way. “Ugh!” The singer groaned, eliciting a chuckle from the employees who accompanied their little gaming session while they were waiting for the technical difficulties to be sorted, the only thing that saved their asses from being the ones keeping everybody from doing their job. 

There wasn’t a shortage of things they could’ve entertained themselves with, and yet, Harry picked for them the single most stressful game available on Nintendo Switch they got their hands on after rummaging through the array of snacks prepared for them, well… for Harry, to indulge in. At least the atmosphere of that office space was a very calming influence on Louis who would’ve most certainly snapped at Harry if that wasn’t the case, not to mention that him lashing out on his friend wasn’t necessarily a good look, neither for Styles nor for him. 

With the bright orange and lime green of the geometric pattern on the walls, balanced with the grey of the concrete that did a great job of relieving overstimulated eyes, the place looked like all of those start-up offices from TV shows that always seemed too good to be true, although Louis only had his sad, bland cubicle at The Daily Mail as a point of reference. 

The compactness of the space was the main factor why it seemed so cosy and welcoming but also the reason why they were kind of piled in a corner that housed a lounge set, the biggest couch taken by the guests. The singer laid sprawled on the furniture, legs perched atop his friend’s lap, Louis kind enough to let him use his body as a footrest even though the boy hasn’t deserved the privilege with how unbearable he got when the game wasn’t going up to his standards. 

Louis wasn’t surprised seeing his friend being such a sore loser, well… maybe a bit. See, with strangers around, he kind of expected Harry to hold himself back a bit but that surely wasn’t the case, or maybe it was. Had they been alone, he’d probably end up dead by the third pot he managed to let catch on fire… oops? 

Everybody seemed to be greatly amused by the display of verbal abuse they were witnessing, bursting out laughing as soon as Styles complained about whatever it was that Louis fucked up this time. Okay, Harry wasn’t necessarily malicious in any of this, Louis knew better than to believe that any of the anger would linger after they’re done with that dubious entertainment, but it started not-so-slowly getting on his nerves, even if previously the outbursts were quite funny to him as well. 

Every next round was slowly draining the well of Lou’s sanity, and that appeared to be the case with Harry too, his groans progressively more animalistic with every order they weren’t able to serve, it wasn’t necessary to say whose fault it was. “You’re stressing me out with all the screaming!” Louis kept the joyful spirit, bursting out laughing for the sake of the people who were around them, having their separate, not-demanding chats between each other, eyes darting to Harry every chance they got because apparently, it was less rude than straight-up staring. 

Frankly, Styles was lucky that all those people were around them, that’s for sure. If it wasn’t for the company, he’d have his nuts cracked for all the yelling. For some twisted reason, the boy thought they were in competition with somebody he most likely imagined, but they weren’t. What was supposed to be a chill intermission before recording the podcast, turned into a real nightmare once the singer realized that his friend didn’t work well under pressure. 

Another virtual fire was quickly dealt with, the lack of aggressive screaming a very unexpected change. Harry still looked at his friend like he just stabbed his mother, but that was far less extreme than the previous fits. 

Only when the round came to an end, Louis raised his hands in surrender. Any more screaming and he’d end up with a headache he wasn’t exactly looking forward to. “Does anyone actually know how to play this game?” Blue eyes looked around the lounge area, and nobody seemed to be volunteering to avenge him. He couldn’t blame them for being intimidated by Styles’ performance, more the insulting part than his actual gaming. At last, one of the girls lifted her hand, her expression only indicating that she wasn’t sure if she could even speak, and that was… both hilarious and kind of sad. Because, really… what kind of assholes she had to deal with to be so timid in company of Harry who, in general, was considered one of the kindest ones out there? 

Invigorated by the vision of his friend getting his ass kicked by the girl that welcomed the two of them in the office, Kiki if he remembered correctly, Louis tucked a foot underneath his bum, tossed his controller to the girl who caught it nonchalantly. He carefully eyed Harry’s opponent, the girl still pondering over something that wasn’t a mystery only to her. “Don’t hold anything back.” Louis encouraged, having high hopes for his new acquaintance’s abilities. “Don’t be scared. He won’t yell at you.” His eyes darted to Harry, who looked back at him with the most unbothered expression ever. “Will he?” The question was asked, just to be sure. 

Styles looked to the petite girl who sat on a bean bag on the floor, apparently assessing the singer’s chances of snapping at her, his expression quickly transformed with a smile once he saw the spark in brown eyes of a girl that looked at him as if she knew exactly that the pop star was no competition to her, at all. “No…” His dark eyebrows furrowed for a second as he shifted a bit where he laid, admitting the possibility of a challenge. “I think.” Louis scoffed and observed as Kiki expertly navigated through the menu, tweaking settings that neither of the guests knew a role of. 

To say that Tomlinson’s expectations were exceeded would’ve been a huge understatement. The inconspicuous gaming aficionado that Kiki turned out to be, made a quick work of her opponent. Harry was _pissed off_ , even more so now that they were going competitive and he was being destroyed, his scores at least a half of Kiki’s. “My hands are too big for this, that’s just unfair.” The loser exclaimed and chucked his controller to the coffee table, ending the unfortunate streak that frustrated him even more than the attempt at teamwork with Louis. The worst thing was that he had nobody to blame but himself. 

Louis smiled at the girl whom he deemed his new friend the second she started unleashing that fury in Harry with how absolutely superior she was over him. He raised his hand and high-fived Kiki, using the thumb of his second hand to trace circles on his roommate’s ankle, hopefully easing up the frustration even just a bit with that secretive, tender touch. 

Feeling the vibrations spreading over his body from the stomach that growled furiously, demanding some actual food, he excused himself, got up from the couch and crossed his way to the kitchen space, picking himself up a banana that was the best thing he could get in terms of actual nutrition. He still caught Harry’s eyes darting to him, even if the boy was talking to Kiki and one other girl whose name left Louis’ head as soon as he heard it. It was mostly from the fact that it was unusual rather than his forgetfulness. 

Waiting for Styles’ eyes to come back to him, he tapped his foot on the vinyl floor in delusion that this quiet commotion would summon his friend from where he was occupied with an apparently pleasurable chat. Of course, it took an unusually long while for the boy to get back to him now that he was waited for. When that finally happened, Louis pointed to the array of snacks and questioned his friend with his gaze only, just to check if Harry wanted anything to wait out the time before they could go and get some quality food. 

After Styles declined the offer with a barely noticeable shake of his head, Louis grabbed a bottle of water and got back to the couch. “Okay, now tell me how amazing I am for a change.” He joked as he sat at the end of the sofa, passing the water to his friend who reached for it, even if he said that he didn’t want any in the first place. 

No matter how authentic the chuckles he earned were, they tickled his ego just slightly, Harry’s eyes smiling from above the water bottle he almost sucked empty. With an apologetic look, he gave the rest back to Louis, who only rolled his eyes at the sight of maybe two sips left for him. 

“We were just saying that we should be done with the software soon, we’re so sorry to keep you two here for longer than it’s necessary.” The girl with a complicated name pressed her lips together as she explained, eyes going back to Harry who only shook his head slightly, his more or less direct way of saying that there was no problem. 

The thing was, there was a problem. Well, with however long it was going to take to sort the equipment, AND the hour of recording, at the very least, Louis could imagine himself starving to death already. He could only predict that it was even worse in Harry’s case as the boy hasn’t frequented the snack bar nearly as much as his friend has. 

When the recording finally started, Harry disappeared behind the door, nestling himself into an armchair that Louis could only envy him since the thing was far more appealing than the rest of available seats. He wasn’t very sure what to do with himself, so he just wandered around a bit, having a whole lot of space to do so since the rest of the people were glued to the window that let them have a peek into the actual studio. 

Out of seven employees in the room with him, only two or three seemed to be working, the rest preoccupied with the spectacle of Harry Styles answering some boring questions, most likely similar to the ones he answered already like a hundred times. He had a hard time understanding in what world that activity would ever be any kind of entertaining and yes, maybe he was biased because there was barely a second in his life that he wasn’t around that boy. Still, thinking a few months back, he couldn’t see himself being quite this engaged in watching some guy talk with another one. 

After he had a stroll around the whole floor that media outlet was occupying, every corner equally unreasonably ‘fun’ for a space that was designated to be worked in, he settled back onto the couch, scrolling pointlessly through his Instagram feed that he checked only for the sake of seeing if his pals were doing something particularly fun. They weren’t. 

The elevator dinged, the door sliding open, revealing a boy that darted straight to another employee, one of the three who were actually working, sitting by a computer quite a distance from Louis who lost interest in anything else once he noticed that small, clumsy furball that arrived with the man, far more interested with the guest than its owner. 

“Oh my god, hello.” He cooed silently, trying not to disturb anybody, even the people who didn’t seem too busy. Leaning down, he picked up the puppy and teased it with his fingers before he fully committed to the tickling. 

It must’ve been at least ten minutes he spent with the puppy, every inch of his body covered with dog hair before he got reminded of his hunger and stood up, crossing the room and sliding himself in between Kiki and another person, the puppy still in his arms, nipping at his fingers with sharp teeth. “Does he come here often?” He got the girl’s attention away from Harry, whose eyes stuck to Louis as soon as he noticed that his friend joined the party. 

“Oh yes, almost daily. You can only imagine how hard it is to work with him around.” The airy chuckle seeped out from between her lips. She reached her hand and started petting the puppy, the small thing not exactly inconvenienced with the surplus of attention it got. 

“I wouldn’t be able to work here even without him, that’s just too much.” He could feel the prickling of Harry’s gaze on his skin as he talked with his new friend. “Is there any good place I could grab something to eat before they’re done here? I think I’m a step away from collapsing.” The girl seemed to be contemplating something, looking back into the studio, to her wristwatch and then getting back to Lou’s face. “Fast is the key.” 

“Subway would be your best bet.” She proposed, tucking her hands into the pockets of her dress. “I go there for lunch sometimes, it’s a good spot. I could tag along if you’re interested.” 

Of course, he was interested. A sandwich was a whole lot more than he was ready to settle for. Hell, he was ready to abandon all his principles of being a picky eater Harry sometimes called him for the sake of something to eat. 

“How is it to live with Harry Styles?” Kiki asked as they were crossing the busy street, their food already in a paper bag that posed a viable threat of bursting since with the number of people in the office, they ended up placing quite the order. 

Thankful for the girl that might have saved his ass that day, he decided that nothing was stopping him from telling the truth, well… a part of it. “He’s not the worst roommate, not at all.” He snickered, knowing that he’s underselling Styles just a bit, fully aware that from the two of them, it was him who was the worse one. “Although he might not have looked like it today, he’s a good lad.” 

“No fighting? Over who gets to do the dishes or whatever it is that roommates argue about?” The girl used her key card to get them into the building, nodding at the new receptionist since it seemed like the shift has changed. 

Were they fighting? Well… kind of but he would hardly deem their disagreements ‘roommate business’, hence why he decided to leave that part out. “No, not really. He does everything.” He finally settled on the answer, the conclusion of his sentence being the ding of the elevator. 

Surprisingly, upon walking into the office, they found pretty much everybody back on the couches, Harry chatting with three other people, everybody’s eyes darting to the two with the lunch. 

“God, there’s too many people here.” Kiki chuckled, keeping her voice low so the rest couldn’t hear. “I can’t really complain. I don’t have a shift until Thursday.” 

“What the hell are you doing at work on your day off?” In no world, Louis imagined ever going to work on his day off. The Queen herself could’ve popped in, and he’d fast asleep in his bed, thank you very much. 

“I couldn’t miss Harry Styles in the office, could I?” She laid the coffee she’s been carrying on the counter, the bag with sandwiches landing next to it. “We’ve got lunch, you whores!” The sudden call to his side surprised him both with the volume and the unexpected affectionate nickname Kiki used for her co-workers. 

True terror shone in Harry’s eyes when Tomlinson found them, his own similarly widened in surprise. “I don’t know, I’d rather sleep in.” His shoulders shrugged as he started unpacking the sandwiches. “You better do that part.” He retrieved two sandwiches which he marked so they wouldn’t get mixed with the others and looked at his new friend who, without a pinch of hesitation, started dispersing the orders between her work friends. 

“Half of us shouldn’t be here today.” Kiki scoffed as Louis started walking away from the counter, seeing that his presence there was redundant, especially now that people began swarming towards the lunch bag. 

“Spicy chicken, you whore.” He grinned at Harry as he tossed the sandwich to his friend’s lap, far gentler when it came to passing the coffee he decided to get for the singer, knowing that he was probably the same amount of exhausted as he was. Yes, they shouldn’t have gone to sleep quite as late as they have, of course, they shouldn’t. But no matter how many times they ended up in the same situation, they never seemed to learn from their mistakes. “What’s up with the holdup? Are you done yet?” He settled himself next to Styles, keeping his body somewhat straight, fighting the urge to lean into Harry, just like he always used to do. It was bizarre how brunette’s body seemed to pull him in, especially when they couldn’t quite get too touchy with each other. 

“There was something wrong with the microphones, they’re sorting it out. Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” Three, huge gulps of coffee preceded unwrapping of the sandwich, Harry devouring a fifth of it in two bites. “Oh my god.” A near-orgasmic moan escaped his throat, eyes rolling to the back of his skull. “Was Subway always this good?” The boy savoured the taste of their breakfast, most likely very biased from how famished he was. 

“No, you’re just hungry.” Tomlinson said around the bite of the sandwich that was good but far from how delicious Styles made it seem. “There would be time for breakfast if you wouldn’t refuse to get up.” 

“Well, I regret nothing.” The brunette shrugged, smug smirk bending his lips. “If anything, I think we should’ve stayed there longer. There are some better things we could’ve been doing instead of… this.” His face grimaced as he glanced at his wristwatch, acknowledging how much time they have wasted waiting for the team to get their shit together. “You can go if you’re bored.” The proposition came off strange in the sense that the boy seemed both not want Louis gone and the actual opposite. 

“Oh, I’m entertained.” Just as if it was its cue to enter, the black ball of fur clumsily rammed into his legs, nibbling on the legs of his jeans before Louis picked it up onto his lap, sneaking a piece of chicken into the small mouth that pretty much demanded feeding. 

“Well, you’re fucked now.” Kiki settled herself next to Louis, petting the puppy on its fluffy head. “He’s gonna eat your whole lunch now.” 

Somehow, the vision of the dog stealing his sandwich wasn’t that bad at all. Well, he was hungry, of course, but then, he just had such a soft spot for dogs that he really couldn’t be mad at that little guy, he could hardly imagine the puppy being able to do any wrong. “I would die for him. I guess I can share my lunch.” The leg he had folded under himself twitched as he felt Harry’s fingers wrapping around his ankle. Trying not to even acknowledge the touch with as little as a flinch, he took a bite of his sandwich, a piece of chicken slipping out of the confinement of the bun, straight onto his sweater. “Oh, fuck.” He drew through his teeth, cursing out his own clumsiness. The task of getting the meat off the sweater was taken care of by the eager puppy who may or may not have been the force that with the power of his small brain, pushed the chicken out the side of the sandwich.

His eyes darted to Harry, apologetically gazing at his friend who couldn’t have looked any less bothered about the sweater, even if he tried. There was this frown on his face, very much apparent with the groove in between his eyebrows as he stuck his eyes to a patterned rug but Louis knew that was unrelated. 

“Oh no, not the sweater!” Their third companion, far more interested in the clothing, clung her hands to Louis’ arm, grazing them up and down, relishing in the feeling of the fabric. “It’s so soft… Who makes it?” She asked, still caressing the sleeve and, indirectly, the arm. 

“It’s… borrowed.” His lip pressed together in a tight line, not sure if saying that it was Harry’s was appropriate. But then, of course, it was Harry’s. The boy was heavily photographed in it just a day prior when he wore it out and about. “No idea, really. You can check the tag though, knock yourself out.” He slumped his shoulders, leaning away from the backrest to grant his new friend better access. 

Contrary to common logic, Harry’s grip on Lou’s ankle tightened, even if it should’ve disappeared once the writer’s position shifted, leaving them only just slightly concealed. Kiki scrambled to her knees, her tiny frame towering over Tomlinson as she knelt next to him, grazing her fingers over the sleeve of the sweater, finding her way to the neckline, lingering there for a beat longer than it was necessary. 

“It’s Gucci.” Harry interrupted the exploration before the girl’s fingers had a chance to touch Louis’ skin. His tone bizarrely pointed, not that anyone else but the writer could’ve noticed that. Without any other reason to stay like that, Kiki got back to her previous position. 

“Of course, it is.” Louis only scoffed, leaning back into the pillows, giving Harry’s loosening grip on his ankle something to hide behind. “Equal parts cashmere and dog hair.” He squeezed the furball closer to himself, getting even more dog hair on himself but with as much as there already was, plus the fact that he had to get the thing dry cleaned before returning it to its owner anyway, he couldn’t care less. 

Louis dragged the serrated knife through the piece of stale sourdough they miraculously hadn’t managed to devour with unhealthy amounts of butter just two days prior, when Harry’s friend dropped it off for him. As it turned out, the Sake guy also partook in bread baking, the product of his labour so good, the two of them didn’t even bother with cutting it up, just ripping the loaf like they haven’t seen food in their lives, the crumbs pretty much a permanent feature of the couch since no matter how many times they’ve hoovered it, new pieces were surfacing from the corners with every shift of the pillows. 

It was kind of dark, his eyes strained from focusing too much, trying to avoid his fingers that most likely wouldn’t appreciate the blade, not to mention the force he was putting to piece the bread. Having everything already cut up, he tossed the leftover sourdough onto a baking tray that found its way into the oven in no time. 

He hopped on the counter, taking the weight off his legs, sighing in relief when his quads could finally relax after a VERY intensive workout they got throughout the day. 

They haven’t even managed to get through their lunch, the one they headed to immediately after the podcast, with all the technical difficulties involved, managed to be wrapped up, when Harry’s phone started buzzing violently, the sound further amplified by the hard surface of the table it was laid on. Of course, seeing that it was Jeff’s assistant who called, they both had a clear idea that the date Louis got his friend out of throughout the weekend just caught up with the boy. 

For some reason, maybe it was the reluctance to hear his client’s complaining, Azoff often used his poor assistant when it came to setting up the dates and stuff that he could imagine Harry wouldn’t like. It was a smart move on his part, that couldn’t be denied. Knowing his manager as good as the singer did, he wasn’t keeping off throwing a juicy insult here and there, especially if the news, like that afternoon, turned out to be quite disruptive to the plans he already had. 

Let’s just say that their day of adventures was entirely thrown out of the window once Styles was rushed out of the restaurant to meet his current girlfriend. Louis wouldn’t say that he was necessarily disappointed or whatever, not really in a mood to be dragged throughout the whole city again. Still, seeing the furious expression on his friend’s face, the one that shone so explicitly as they walked out of the place they ate in, he couldn’t help but swallow hard, very fucking intimidated by the frown deeper than he had a chance of ever seeing. 

Not knowing exactly where he was, left by Harry on the curb after he reassured the boy that he had to pop into some places to pick up a few essentials he ran out of, Louis found himself opening the Uber app, thinking that it’s better if he does his shopping around the neighbourhood they lived in, his chances of vanishing slightly decreased in the area he was somewhat familiar with. 

The Uber wouldn’t come. The four minutes he was supposed to be waiting for, stretched to ten, fifteen and then twenty; then he finally gave up on that particular ride, cancelling it and reporting the issue immediately. He was just about to order himself a second, hopefully, more successful one, when the phone started going off in his hand, an unknown number displayed on the screen. 

A year or two ago, he wouldn’t think twice before declining the call, never answering numbers that weren’t saved in his mobile. But now, with his mother’s condition always somewhere in the back of his head, he couldn’t do that, every ignored call coming with anxiety that he might have just missed something significant regarding his mum. 

So, he answered. And thank God, he did. The cheery voice on the other side lifted his spirits right up. It was Kiko, his new friend that apparently hasn’t been nice to him only because he hung out with Harry Styles. Well, he kind of stopped suspecting that, the second she literally stopped their elevator to ask Louis for his phone number, the one he gave her without much thought, not expecting to hear from Harry’s defeater quite this soon. Hell, he thought this was going to be one of these numbers he kept in his phone without ever speaking with the owner.

It was both a pleasant and an unpleasant surprise when she inquired whether he was busy at the moment, looking for an opportunity to hang out with somebody on her day off. The thought of going home was pushed to the side when he said that he’s down to do something together and while the eagerness in his voice was maybe just slightly exaggerated, there was this part of him that didn’t want to be alone right now. 

Even if the thought of being alone in Tokyo, with the people constantly bumping into him, was quite ridiculous in his head, he felt exactly that where he was, alone.

It was quite worrying how hopeless he was without Harry, especially in Japan, not aware of what he should do with himself if he hasn’t felt like sitting at home. He could only imagine how pathetic Styles thought he was, seeing him all by himself every time he came back from whatever exciting, socially engaging thing he wandered to. 

So, thinking that he could use a friend in Japan, even if they were nearing the end of that particular adventure, Louis agreed to meet the girl that was a stranger to him just a few hours ago, the decision prompted not only by loneliness but also the genuine sympathy for Kiko that might have been sparked by the fact how she smashed that cocky spirit in Harry, destroying him in _Overcooked._

That’s how he still ended up roaming around Tokyo for the bigger part of the day, just with a different person than he initially intended to wander around with. Even with his legs aching with every step, he ended up enjoying the stroll quite a lot. Their conversations, from the start, flowed very effortlessly, the surprising ease of shifting through the topics Louis rarely had with people was an essential factor in the success of their not-so-little hangout. 

Being absolutely superior over Harry, not only in a video game but also the topography of the city, Kiko had a whole bunch of interesting, quirky places to show him. They wandered from the most cliché tourist spots Harry simply couldn’t take him to since the risk of getting bothered peaked around there, to most interesting arcades they’ve spent quite a while in, Louis far less of a sour loser when he was defeated in everything but air hockey, only luck saving him from bombing that one.

He’s seen a lot: an array of bizarrely specifically themed shops, the quite disturbing geisha district that was straight out of a horror movie, to the cat café that was a very peaceful conclusion to their journey, the two of them separating there, thankfully quite close to where Louis’ temporary residence was. They were already set up for another meeting, a less activity-packed one, at least that’s what he was promised. 

The worst thing about the whole outing came from the fact that he never really paid too much attention to what he was saying. While always very honest and straightforward, he couldn’t exactly keep that truthful approach with Kiki around, carrying way too many secrets on his shoulders. What was even worse, he even sometimes forgot that some of the things he was let in on, weren’t exactly common knowledge to anybody but him and Styles. 

It was really a miracle that he managed not to slip anything. He even kept the book to himself, not sure whether he should talk about it or not. He decided not to, especially that, as far as he was aware, the media hasn’t yet associated him following Styles like a stray dog with the book they were working on. The fact that none of the major news outlets has made that connection yet was quite surprising. Even Twitter girls caught up onto them! Some theories more accurate than the others, but they were there. It was strange that nobody blew it up just yet. 

That constant control he had to keep, filtering every word he was about to say, doubled the exhaustion with the mental aspect of the strain. Add to that the profuse blushing he had to suppress, entirely blamed on Harry who, for some twisted reason, out of nowhere, started sending him some extremely raunchy texts, keeping him on the verge of popping a stiffy throughout the whole time they were apart, and you have a reason why he collapsed onto the couch as soon as he closed the door after entering the house. He hasn’t even bothered taking his shoes off.

Even the nap that stretched to four and a half hours, undisturbed by Harry who got back at least two hours before Louis woke up, had nothing on the sleepiness that was there with him throughout the whole day, not easing up even when Harry, with unusual to him directness, started delivering on the promises he made in his texts, the ones that up to the point the boy cut to the chase, were believed to be empty. 

They surely were not, not at all. And now that Harry was approaching him in the kitchen, he was reminiscing all the things they haven’t gotten round to, hoping that they could postpone the plans at least up until he has time to gather some energy to continue. “I haven’t been folded like that since year seven gymnastics.” The chuckle got muffled against Harry’s dewy skin as he started pressing kisses to the boy’s collarbone, pulling him closer with his legs, wrapped around his bare bottom. “What’s gotten into you today?” Extending his neck as far as it went, he managed to reach his lover’s lips, closing them before the brunette had a chance to answer. 

Leisurely grazing the roof of Lou’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, Harry reached for his partner’s cheek. He rubbed a thumb over it, Louis relishing in the attention he got that even as heated as it got, seemed extremely innocent when compared with whatever it was that possessed the singer upstairs. “Is it bad that I couldn’t stop thinking about you even for a second when you weren’t with me?” The raspy murmur settled on Louis’ bottom lip, dropping further down once he felt fingers climbing up his leg, crossing the way from his ankle, stopping just above the knee, hoisting it up as Harry leaned into another kiss. 

Was it bad? If it was, Louis was just as guilty as his friend was. Throughout the whole afternoon, even despite being in the company of very entertaining, joyful presence, he still found himself drifting away, wondering what it was that his roommate was doing. Okay, maybe it was hard not to think about Harry when he was bombarded with messages that after a while could’ve landed him in a study on conditioned response; at the end, even the ding of the notification enough to coax his cock to twitch in his pants. But even before Harry kicked off that little activity of his, he was still stuck there, in the back of Lou’s head. 

Sliding his fingers up his lover’s neck, Louis pulled the boy closer, gently tugging on the ends of his hair, appreciating that perfect length before the trim Harry was scheduled to get in London. “Very bad.” He sighed out the answer when their lips finally parted, shallow breaths mixing in the two inches of space between their lips. “I can’t say that you’ve made yourself easy to forget either...” A breathy chuckle clashed with the taller man’s mouth, the boy licking his way into Louis’ immediately, striving to fill every second with the man, starving for everything the writer was willing to give him from the second they’ve separated earlier that day. 

“Yeah? Had trouble focusing on your new girlfriend?” Something bitter manifested from the depths of that forced indifference. Harry took a step back, tucking Lou’s fringe behind his ear and reached his fingers for his friend’s hands. “You should keep that sweater, I’ll get it cleaned for you.” Keeping a steady grip on Lou’s palms, he pulled the boy off the counter, freeing the space he needed for the tray he retrieved from the oven. Some of the bread ended up being maybe a bit too browned around the edges, the consequence of them getting distracted with each other. 

Normally, Louis would’ve protested, immediately. But he decided to let that one slide, taking quite a liking in the sweater that he probably would be embarrassed to wear outside if the alternative wasn’t matching Harry’s outfit. Let’s just say that cheetah print, even the supersized version of it, wasn’t exactly something he’d opt for while shopping. Hell, he’d probably burst out laughing had he seen one of his mates sporting something like that. 

And while the thought of a Gucci sweater becoming the main piece of his leisurewear was quite fucking ridiculous in itself, that was how he intended to utilize the gift from now on. Yes, it might have been a bit close to a dress on him. The cut that was already oversized on Harry, ended up reaching mid-thigh on the guy that was a few inches shorter than the former owner was, the sleeves entirely devouring Louis’ limbs and then some, leaving him with the most humiliating case of sweater paws to date. But then, with the sweater being this long, it could be worn without bottoms, just as it was right then and that was always a win. 

Harry would be lying if he said that the way Louis almost drowned in the surplus of caramel-coloured wool wasn’t exactly the reason why he decided to part his ways with the piece he was quite fond of, still less than he adored the way it hung over the writer like a sack, only further accentuating his compact size. There was something about the sweater that made the man look so soft and fragile, especially now that he stood there, rubbing sleep off his eyes with fists, observing how the singer smeared garlic butter over the toasted pieces of bread they were going to indulge in. 

“Is that what it was?” The question hung in the garlic-scented air between the two, meeting with confusion from Harry who wasn’t exactly unreasonable with waiting for his friend to elaborate. “Was that you being jealous?” His free hand darted to his ankle, tracing the bruise in the shape of Styles’ fingers, a memento from earlier when it was almost crushed with the tight grip that the boy already apologized for million times. 

“No.” The brunette denied the allegations, a stubborn frown welcoming his face, fingers going straight for his friend’s ankle as he seemed to have noticed Lou’s action. He pushed the writer’s hand away and started grazing the bruise with his thumb, the same pained expression making it back onto his face from where he first noticed the circle around the ankle, obviously beating himself up for being the one behind the mark. “I know it’s stupid because you’re not even…” A sigh broke off the sentence, giving him a few seconds to find better words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I have no right to do that.” Something inscrutable twisted his face as he waited for any kind of reaction… not much given in terms of that. 

Louis was strangely unbothered by that display of jealousy that was very out of place in their arrangement. Maybe it was because he already had the time to get used to that thought, since he connected the dots earlier that day, or perhaps because, no matter how bad he didn’t want to admit to that, he had his moments like that. Moments when his stomach twisted in a knot from the sole awareness that Harry was out on one of his dates, the dull burn, heated iron stirring in the pit of his stomach that made its appearance once any of Styles’ friends touched him in a way he didn’t like, even if the pal in question had a whole ass wife and a kid at home. 

He couldn’t quite put the finger on when exactly he started feeling like that. Whenever he tried to, he only got as far as remembering that it always has been with him, at least from the day they’ve kissed in his apartment after the gala. Was it this? Did that kiss give him some deceptive sense of commitment that suddenly made him so possessive? It never was him, the jealous one. Even as self-aware as he was, he never thought he was insecure enough to be able to feel like that. 

Still, he wasn’t even sure if it was jealousy that he felt. How could he know? In his almost thirty years on this planet, he was strangely incompetent when it came to emotions and such, a whole sector of them foreign to him, to the point he probably couldn’t name the ones he hasn’t felt yet if they finally came. 

Could it be? Had it finally happened for him? He wasn’t sure, not yet. What he knew though, was the fact that the sole thought of falling for Harry, with all his love spilt with the kisses, soft caresses that were more than any words the boy could ever use to make his feelings known (not that he ever spared those more vocal ways to express them), hasn’t seemed so abstract right now, as they laid sprawled on the mattress, covering both themselves and the bed with even more crumbs, so effortlessly comfortable with each other’s silence. 

Being certain that Harry wouldn’t share his opinion, Louis couldn’t bring himself to be anything other but terrified. It kind of felt like that anxiety just before a first kiss or losing your virginity, still very vivid in his memory even despite all those years that managed to fade those moments out. Comparable in the sense that you don’t know what to expect, not the excitement that came along with it. There was none of that in Tomlinson, not a smidge of it. 

Had he known that it was going to be Harry Styles, with whom he was going to get closer to falling in love than he ever came before, he would’ve never consented to any of the kisses, not to mention sleeping together. Although, now that he thought about it, he really couldn’t recall ever making any of the decisions that led to them ending up right there, on that stupid bed, eating the burnt bread, with the crumbs scratching Harry’s chest as Louis dragged his fingers over his bare skin, another manifestation of the innocent affection he would’ve never allowed just a few weeks back. 

The thought of that affair being the twist of fate they had no way of avoiding, fought with his lack of belief in anything in the shape of destiny. All his life, he thought it was only him who was responsible for whatever happens to him and now… with the mess the whole thing made of his head, he wasn’t sure anymore.

It was only his luck, though. Only he, with the array of ex-lovers, so desperate to spark any kind of warm feeling inside of him, started falling for Harry Styles, the one boy he couldn’t have even if he wanted. What was even sadder, he could never have him even if Harry wanted him as well, and it was very obvious that he did. 

“I was just a little confused, that’s all.” Tomlinson’s voice broke the silence that with every passing second, was getting less and less bearable. The overworked lightbulb buzzed in the corner of the room, the only source of light in the bedroom irritating the hell out of both of them. Harry’s exasperation was quite clear, although there was a reasonable doubt whether it had anything to do with the buzzing. 

Seeing that he’s not getting anything back from Harry, who just sort of laid there, his mind in a whole different place, the writer shifted to his side. Louis threw his arm over his lover’s chest, grazing the tip of his index finger over Styles’ pecs, twisting short hair in between them around his finger. “You know what?” The question was there solely for the purpose of summoning the singer’s attention from where it wandered, the attempt hardly successful. “I sometimes don’t get you. At all.” That one fully got what Louis was seeking for. Brunette’s eyes snapped open, searching for the other pair that refused to look up at him, perhaps because it kind of felt easier to say what he wanted to say like that. “I should be the one jealous, not you. You…” A deep sigh as an intermission before that bundle he had prepared to be said, the writer very much preoccupied with circling his finger around his friend’s right nipple. “You’re so smart, _so_ _fucking_ _hot_.” He chuckled, the words tasting weird on his tongue. “You’re sometimes even funny… you have the biggest cock I’ve ever…” The pause as a means to cut the awkwardness he felt. Even avoiding Harry’s eyes, behaving slightly like he wasn’t even there, didn’t make it any better. It just felt too bizarre, no matter how many times he praised that particular part of Styles’ body before, although then, his confidence could’ve been biased by the object in question, buried deep inside of him. And _okay_ , he might have been colourizing about the ‘biggest’ part, but it was innocent, Harry had no way of ever verifying that information. He was willing to go there if only that made his friend feel better. Maybe it did, brunette’s chest shook in a chuckle. “Everybody wants you, and yet, you want me. And I don’t know what in the hell I’ve done to deserve that but how idiotic it would be of me to ever jeopardize all that. And for what? A girl? You know I don’t date girls, I never did. The only vagina I’ve ever seen was the one I crawled out of, and I’m pretty sure I’d be scarred for life if I saw one now.” A shiver shook his body, more in reaction to the sole thought of his mum’s… no, ew. 

“You don’t even know your own power.” Harry’s hand drifted to the nape of his friend’s neck, gently coaxing the man’s head up by gentle tugging on his hair. “Having people fall for you wherever you go.” The softest of kisses were pressed to Louis’ lips, already pursed and ready to accept the fond gesture. “This girl adores you… she has something I could never give you, even if you ever…” His chest raised in an exasperated sigh. “I know I’m rambling and making a fool of myself, pretty much daydreaming at this point, but I think about those things when I’m writing or reading something that reminds me of you… It happens, I’m sorry.” His finger followed the slope of Louis’ nose, ending with a gentle tap on the tip of it. “You know what? I’m not sorry.” Spread fingers entangled in the smaller man’s hair, grazing his scalp absentmindedly. “The point is, I shouldn’t have gotten angry about the possibility of losing something that never was mine, something I’ve made up in my head, that’s it.” Styles’ shrug shook their joined silhouettes, Louis’ sigh brushing over Harry’s chest. “Although it gets hard to separate the vision from reality when you’re just so…” Every memory of any relationship-y thing they’ve done together, rushed in front of his eyes in the span of three seconds it took to collect his scattered thoughts, never really quite explicitly voicing what it was that he felt. What didn’t help was the reasonable fear of Louis panicking again. Still, with that in the back of his head, the memories coaxed a smirk onto his lips. “I just like the thought of the two of us together, sorry if I sometimes let myself get lost in it.” 

“How do you even know when…” Tomlinson’s head snapped back down, eyes stuck to the blackness outside the window, trailing after an airplane that slid across the dark sky, deciding not to speak again because he wasn’t even sure how to ask. 

“Have you ever laid in bed, all bundled up, ready to sleep and couldn’t wait to wake up so you could spend more time with somebody? Even if just to slack around and watch rubbish shows on the telly?” 

“That sounds… exhausting.” Louis summarized. His answer obvious enough. But honestly, in what world would Louis Tomlinson EVER await waking up? That just seemed… impossible. It was most likely just another quirk of Harry’s, not a general rule regarding everybody. It couldn’t be, hell no. 

“It is not.” Harry protested, sitting up, very involuntarily pulling Louis with himself. “Up.” He urged, searching for the hem of the sweater that got lost, bunched up around the writer’s waist. Without unnecessary words, he pulled it off the compliant friend, tossing it to the floor, relishing in the feeling of the man’s skin on his own as they laid back, covered by the sheet that made it back onto the bed once the temperature started dropping at night. “I’m sorry I’m laying all of this on you, I can only imagine how awkward you feel.” That uncalled for apology brushed over Lou’s forehead. “There’s no pressure, don’t feel sorry for me. That’s not really your problem, remember?” Soft pillows of Harry’s lips were laid on Louis’ temple, pressing to the skin for maybe a beat more than it would be appropriate, although it didn’t matter. Not only the brunette never really felt awkward with whatever it was that he felt, at least not around Louis, but the man was already snoring on his chest, lulled to sleep by exhaustion, both physical and mental. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded a bit earlier due to the response to the last chapter and the fact that I'm almost done with writing this story and don't have to keep as many chapters written in advance for when the things get rough with writing.  
>  Hope you're still enjoying and don't hate me too much for my lack of ability to keep things concise.  
>  Thanks for being here, consider leaving something after yourself while you're at it :)


	25. Chapter 25

A soft breeze ruffled through Harry’s hair, destroying the last remnants of it ever being styled with every blow, none of them strong enough to give any momentum to the hammock him and Louis were sitting in, his legs hanging over the edge while his friend’s were folded together.

It only started getting dark as they sat there, in silence, eyes focused on the intricate patterns the clouds created on the pinkish sky, the rest of the colour fading into navy with every second the sun slid down towards the horizon, leaving them under the careful eye of the faint silhouette of a moon, looking over them from where it took over the watch from its predecessor.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable at all, although it didn't stop Styles from noticing that there was something unusual in Louis' behaviour, the pensive look not disappearing from his face from the moment they woke up together, carried throughout the day, still somewhat present as the two of them were devouring pizza on the hammock just a few moments ago, the boxes still laying on the grass below them, ready to be stepped on as soon as either of them decides to cut the moment.

Nothing was foretelling an abrupt stop to their little hangout. Together, but strangely separate, their minds seemingly stuck in two different places, yet bodies still snuggled together in the hammock that creaked ominously with every gentle swing, complaining about the strain that was put on it by two men who couldn't care less about the threat of bruising their asses if the construction decides to fail them. They were too preoccupied with the sunset they watched together, enjoying each other’s company before they were to head back on the road, the possibility of touching each other so instinctively stripped away from them once the tour kicks off again.

As much as both tried to hide it from one another, that tiny vein of uncertainty was very much detectable in between them, getting thicker and thicker every day they got closer to leaving. Unknowingly, they ended up pondering over the same issue, one side significantly more terrified with the prospect of their little fling coming to an end as soon as their vacation ends with real life coming back and smacking them in their faces.

Styles tried to push the idea away, convincing himself that there’s no way they would let their thing just fizzle out like that, the passion they had for each other the furthest away from subsiding. To the contrary, it seemed to be increasing with every touch, every kiss they got a bit too into. He pulled his friend closer, shifting him in a way that let the writer’s head fall onto his lap. Louis blinked lazily before he decided to leave his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering once Harry took advantage of the privilege while he still had it and entangled spread fingers into the man’s fringe, pushing it back where he rested his hand, gifting pure caresses to his friend’s scalp.

There was nothing carnal in the way Louis was craved right at that moment, even despite Harry having all the time to soak up his presence throughout the day they've spent together. It was mostly lazy, doing stupid stuff like hanging out in front of the telly, the most they’ve done was handling laundry, the sauce-stained sweater still tumbling in the washing machine since they decided to trust the ‘wool’ setting of the machine, both of them crossing their fingers, hoping for success, very much fond of the piece of clothing for completely different reasons.

A soft sigh flared Louis’ nostrils as he laid there, eyes still closed, ankles crossed, resting on the knotted rope that was the only thing keeping them suspended in the warm air. His ears already tuned to ignore screeching of the neighbourhood kids that apparently weren’t nearly as interested in the sunset as the pair in the garden two fences over. Due to that useful ability to just filter out the sounds that disrupted the zen atmosphere he let himself get fully enveloped in, he had a whole lot of time to just… think.

Yes, yes, maybe that wasn’t the best thing right now, especially with Harry who had nothing better to do but to stare at his face, and he _knew_ the boy was staring, practically feeling the prickling of his gaze on his freckled face, flushed from the slight sunburn he fell victim of. So, with the most earnest effort to keep his mind at bay, he focused on the orchestra, stuck somewhere in the crowns of nearby trees, chirping over each other, creating a melody that only made the thing more… zen.

That was the best word to describe their evening, just the most prominent state of peaceful. Everything; the birds, the breeze, barely noticeable swaying of the hammock, the last beams of sunlight, slowly disappearing from the sky, Harry’s fingers on his skin, his sound breathing… it was all just _soft_ and very fucking enjoyable if he was the judge of that. Perfect conditions for thinking, that’s why the uneven battle with the thoughts he wanted to suffocate was so straining to his brain that, thankfully, got a bit of support from every drop of calm around him.

An impulse pushed his hand upwards, resting the palm over Harry’s that reached for his friend with the same absentmindedness as Louis sought for that touch. The writer’s fingers curling and relaxing, just slightly brushing his friend’s palm with the pads of his digits, eyes still kept closed, kind of scared to see the face above his. See, he was ready to bet some serious money that he’d find Harry grinning at him, like a fucking Cheshire cat or whatever and yes, maybe the comparison came straight from the fact that Styles was from Cheshire himself.

“You’re awfully distant today, a penny for your thoughts.” Harry’s mutter only added to the tall pile of _soft,_ Louis was slowly getting buried in, not a bad feeling, not at all.

His nose scrunched, reacting to the pad of his friend’s index finger that smoothed over his unruly eyebrows, following the slope of his nose, the slightest swell of his barely existent lips, the jawline, auricle before it slid down, gliding over his adam's apple to finally set a camp in the dip of his collarbone, caressing the thin skin stretched over the bone. "Was just thinking about what you said yesterday, that's all." The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly, thanking the gods that he opted to keep his eyes closed, he couldn’t see himself saying all this, so effortlessly with them opened. “I might have been fantasising about going to the beach.” Now he was fully smirking, the randomness of that confession as a means to distract his friend from the first part.

He should’ve never said anything about the beach. It felt innocent enough and yet, now he had to deal with Harry, humming whatever it was that he was humming since apparently the beach reminded him of a song and he just couldn’t stop himself, just like he never could.

"What's that?" Louis asked, scoffing at the suddenness of the sound. Yeah, he hoped to get Harry's attention away from the first confession he made, but then, he surely has not expected the boy to break out into a song. ‘This is no _Grease,_ Styles, snap out of it!’ He left that thought to himself.

And then… it got even worse. Aside from the humming, words joined the equation and made Louis feel like he was in _La La Land_ or whatever. “ _Seaside, whenever you stroll along with me, and I'm merely contemplating what you feel inside"_ Styles chirped, his notes just slightly off, knowing that he could allow himself to be playful like that, any trace of judgement between them vanished weeks, if not months ago. Louis could only be thankful for the fact that the singer was kept down by his body. If that had not been the case, that idiot would most likely pull him in to conclude their musical scene with a dance routine, not that he hasn’t done that a few times already. “ _Meanwhile, I ask you to be my Clementine.”_ Thankfully, he only continued singing, the last word chopped in syllables, settled on Lou’s face once Harry bumped the tips of their noses together. “Queen! You’re hopeless, less culture than in a yoghurt, really.”

Okay, he _knew_ Queen, who didn't? Maybe he wasn't exactly familiarised with the obscure tracks Styles seemed to be an expert of but he knew… some stuff. Without a trace of desire for any sort of teasing, he dismissed that nudge with an eye roll, fully covered by eyelids he might have forgotten to open, but he might as well never have intended to do that.

Still humming along, Styles laid back, letting the thick linen of the hammock support his silhouette. “A beach…" A dreamy purr got swept away with the breeze. "I could go for a beach day, how fast can you get packed?"

“I seriously doubt they have beaches I was thinking of around here.” Well, no… he _knew_ they didn’t. The visual in his mind was all yellow sand and clear water, something private. They don’t do private in Japan.

“And where have I said anything about Japan?”

Louis barked out a laugh, the sound fizzling to a chuckle that met with no reaction from

Harry, only that indicative of the fact that the boy was serious. “You’re completely off your trolley.” The smile returned, his head shaking in Harry’s lap. “Rich people, I swear to god.” That one was more to himself than to his friend.

“If we hurry, we could manage a nice weekend somewhere warm.” A sigh made it known that Louis had absolutely no time for that discussion. “Just imagine.” Styles murmured, not giving up on that one quite this easily, letting his hand disappear in Lou’s hair since it was the furthest he could reach. “Golden sand, teal water, snorkelling, pina coladas, sandcastles, seafood and other… fun things people do on beaches.” His back slumped again, lips pressed to the tip of Lou’s sunburnt nose. “And sunscreen, a lot of it. I can practically smell it, just say yes.”

“So…” The mocking note in Tomlinson’s voice was absolutely not him entertaining the idea for even as little as a second. "Is that your way of telling me that you want to bang me on a beach?" Immediately, he shifted to his knees, throwing one of them to the other side of Harry's thighs, a bit of teasing never hurt anybody. Hooking his hands behind his friend’s neck, he pushed himself closer, having a lot of fun observing how eagerly the brunette parted his lips, only to get absolutely nothing.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Tomlinson.” Harry scolded the older man who towered above him just a bit, still kneeling, far from stable on the hammock but that's where the grip on Styles' neck came in handy, so did two oversized palms that rested on his hips, trying to bring him closer even if there was obviously not much chance of success with how cocky the writer got. “But if you’re proposing…” The boy took matters into his own hands, reaching to tease Louis with his own lips, brushing against his ever so slightly. “You know you can do whatever you want to me.” That one spiced with a bit too much conviction to be just a tease, both of them fully aware of that.

“You haven’t had sex on the beach, have you?” Trusting that those palms on his sides were enough to hold him in place, he let his hands disappear in Harry’s dark, shiny locks, brushing them back so he could have a better look at the face.

The boy only shook his head, his eyes crinkling adorably as he grinned, eyes glittering in the darkness they have barely noticed. And of course, he hasn’t. Louis could hardly imagine any sane person willingly getting themselves into all… that.

Okay, he was young, and there wasn't exactly a lot of places he could get laid at if his sex buddies happened to be around his age, without unlimited access to a flat or a hotel room, whatever. So, yeah… it happened. Once or twice and while wet, dark beaches near rivers weren’t exactly close to the ones Harry was proposing, he could only imagine it being even worse once the sand is dry and light, able to… travel.

But then, for some, twisted reason, Harry made it kind of exciting, a twitch travelling down Lou’s spine, settling straight in his crotch at the vision of being taken on the beach, with the treacherous sense of being protected from people’s eyes by the night or whatever else they would end up using.

"Of course, you haven't." His chuckle settled in a mist on Harry's lips. "If you had, you'd know that there's nothing hot in sand in your arse."

“Don’t be a buzzkill, I’d help you to get it out.”

“Of course, you would.” He let his head fall in the crook of Harry’s neck, dragging his nose up until he reached the ear. “Because you are nasty.”

They ended up fantasising about the beach retreat for longer it would be appropriate, considering that there was no way in hell Louis would ever consent to that, his approach very explicit from the get-go. The vision became a whole lot more appealing once the beach sex shifted into yacht sex, and Louis couldn't deny that this might have been a position on his bucket list.

Neither of them acknowledged that out of all things Harry simply wasn’t allowed to do, gay sex on the beach or even a yacht for that matter was most likely on the top of the list, punishable by something like dates with three different girls in a two-day span. And the idea sounded absolutely ridiculous, mostly because it was, but that was this poor boy’s reality, the lengths to which Azoff was willing to go, fully exposed once the singer’s old pals kind of outed him as bisexual. Louis’ stomach clenched when he reminded himself of the tears that welled in Harry’s eyes when he shared that particular story. The management’s damage control machine doing its job splendidly, the news about Harry Styles being a fuckboy far more interesting than old news about a boyfriend from the past.

Now that he thought about it... if Jeff was desperate, the damage substantial enough, he could easily see that scum setting up a little sex on the beach scene to reinforce his client's Casanova image. That would most fucking certainly not include Louis, any male for that matter.

“How come you’re so calm?” Harry inquired, breaking off the silence they were engulfed in once the fantasy of beach adventure stopped entertaining them. “Normally you’d be freaking out already.”

Louis’ eyes stayed on the moon, the silver glare bouncing off his features, helping the younger boy study every shift of his friend’s expression. “I don’t know.” His shoulders shrugged, one of them dug into Harry’s flesh since they still laid in the hammock, willingly or not, pressed tightly to each other. He exhaled sharply, the tip of his companion’s index finger tickling the sensitive skin stretched over his ribs. “Maybe a fit, young, influential and _loaded_ gentleman falling for me isn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened?”

Harry’s chuckle got muffled as he pressed his lips to his friend’s shoulder, taking advantage of the tank top Lou was wearing. “You, mister eager…” The finger travelled up to Lou’s lips, sealing them as the man already had something to say. “You better hold your horses, I’ve never said I loved you, have I?”

"Yeah, yeah, stop yakking now, you fraud. Got me all chuffed for the wedding and now what? Getting cold feet once you learn, I don't hate you as much as you thought I did?” His eyebrow arched at the boy next to him, Harry’s expression absolutely flabbergasted, more from the fact how candidly his friend mentioned the possibility of them ever… even as a joke, it was far further than Louis would’ve ever gotten before. “Think about us, what a power couple. My foul mush and your…” The silence stretched for a beat just to emphasise how unbearably hard it was to find a positive in Styles. “Money, I guess. Jay and Beyonce could never!”

Harry laughed, eyes crinkling, glittering in the silver light the moon cast on their grinning faces. “And in that arrangement, you would be…”

“Beyonce, obviously.” The scoff only completed the expression on Styles’ face that could only be described as _fond,_ the adoration almost solidified between them.

“You know how I knew?” The sudden shift of mood met with a questioning gaze of the blue staring back at the brunette. “Before I ever started thinking about you… like that.” He cautiously bypassed all the words he could’ve fit there but wasn't sure if they wouldn't trigger the panic button inside his pal, the possibility of that happening quite small but still there. "I grew quite a liking for a person I am around you. Because see… This is not exactly how I’ve always been.” The boy leaned and pressed a chaste kiss to his friend’s lips that parted more from his genuine surprise than awaiting a kiss. “And I fucking love that guy.”

“Yeah, I guess he’s not _horrible_.” The adjective left on a sigh, accentuating the strain Louis had to endure to admit that he doesn’t hate that Harry either.

“And I’m not saying that I’m betting on us being the endgame, we don’t know each other long enough. Hell, we barely do.” A chuckle was stopped once he pecked his lover’s shoulder. “But I can see us being good together, I really do. So…” Absentmindedly, he started grazing circles on the shoulder he only just kissed. “Maybe we could give it a try, just to see what happens?”

“And how exactly would that ever work with all the…”

A deep sigh flared the boy’s nostrils to enormous size, a deep frown settling on his previously peaceful face, explicitly showing that both of them were thinking about the same thing, one that didn’t bode well for Harry’s hardest efforts to persuade the writer into pursuing anything romantic, more serious than what they already had. “You never struck me as a quitter.” Plump lips pressed into a thin line, frown gone aside for the eyebrows that stayed furrowed. “We could work, we’re stubborn enough to work.”

Louis said nothing, feeling overwhelmed, not expecting being put on the spot quite like that. Of course, his eyes started drifting away from his friend, his brain making decisions his heart didn’t agree with but being as submissive to the reasonable part of him as he was, he never stood a chance in that fight.

The singer saw the conflict on his friend’s face, he could hardly blame the man for being uneasy, very much aware that the directness wasn’t really something that the two of them shared. “Look at me, I’m not going to bite you.” He urged, smirking only slightly because _yes,_ he might have bitten Lou before, on several occasions. “I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend or whatever, we’re not fifteen. _But_ … _”_ The corners of his lips twitched for a split second, the amusement disappearing once he saw that Tomlinson was still not even close to saying yes. His index finger straightened and poked his friend’s chest, just to make his point more serious or whatever it was that prompted the unusual act. “Let me take you out, a proper date. In London.” The boy started quite visibly getting excited about his own idea, the same one the other part hasn’t even okayed yet. “Let me woo you a bit, no shagging. Just me, you, a nice dinner, maybe a cinema or something, I need to think about it.” A hand gravitated to his head where he scratched an itch he didn’t have. “And if you happen to want to snog me when I drop you off like the gentleman I am, I might not oppose.”

Louis pulled the fabric of his tank top, covering half of his face on the expense of his stomach that now was fully exposed. Whatever, it was not his tummy that was blushing like crazy, it was his mug. And he wasn't exactly sure what he was even getting himself into, still very much uncertain about the whole idea. But he nodded, his eyes rendering his efforts to cover the grin on his face useless. “But we’re splitting the bill.” The condition Harry wasn’t going to even acknowledge, fully knowing that this was not going to be the case because that’s just not how dates with him worked, brought an even wider smile onto his face, lips still bent as he leaned down and slotted his lips with Lou’s, cupping his face so he wouldn’t escape too soon.

-

Stumbling around his own apartment like a chicken with its head cut off, he was cluelessly shuffling through half-empty bathroom drawers he never managed to fully fill up with products he implemented in his minimal routine. He knew it was somewhere, it had to be! A memory of getting that tiny sample of cologne as a gift after spending some ridiculous amount of money for moisturizer Drew asked him to buy for him, still very vivid in his head, not overshadowed by one of ever using up the thing, so it had to be _somewhere_. 

Well, he couldn’t find it there so… deodorant it is. And yes, it was really quite foolish for him to get so… stressed (???) about the 'date' he was about to go on, but he couldn't really deny that nauseating stirring in the pit of his stomach, could he? Of course, this was far from their first outing, the whole ‘first date’ idea quite ridiculous when you consider that they were sleeping together for the majority of the five weeks they’ve spent in Tokyo but yeah… Louis wasn’t necessarily the example of impeccable logic or anything like that, not right now.

Praying that he didn't take too much and won't end up looking like he hasn't washed his hair in weeks, he dragged the expired hair wax through his hair, getting unruly strands off his face, securing the messy, yet thought out product of his labour in the back of his head, carefully plucking some strands free, so it didn't look like he spent nearly as much time in front of a mirror as he actually did.

Was the whole effort kind of pointless? Yes, probably. After all, Harry has seen it all. From completely sloshed mess sprawled on a couch, through groggy Louis after fifteen hours of sleep, finishing on all dolled-up Tomlinson, the best (and only) example of which would probably be the charity gala the two of them attended a while back. What he also knew though, the only thing that made him so concerned about his appearance, was that his friend will most likely go all-out and he wasn't going to be the fool standing next to Harry Styles in t-shirt and jeans, hell no. He was going to be the fool standing next to Harry Styles in a _shirt_ and jeans, a fucking SHIRT! In his book, that’s as high of an effort as it got.

The decision of wearing a shirt was very quickly regretted, exactly when it came to unfolding the ironing board he wasn’t even sure when he used for the last time, maybe before his uncle’s funeral like three years prior. The frustration surfacing from his mediocre ironing skill (although that was already an overstatement), almost made him pick up the phone and call the entire thing off. But yeah, he hasn’t done that, knowing that Harry would be absolutely gutted after he saw the boy get all excited about the evening, babbling like crazy about all the cool ideas he had for them, the list so long the date would have to be stretched for an entire week and there still wouldn’t be a promise they would find time for everything.

He really fucking hoped the shirt was a good pick for whatever they were going to end up doing, nothing certain in his head since Harry just refused to tell him anything other than using the word ‘casual’ when pressed for any kind of description of attire Louis should wear. And okay, the shirt he was ironing was hardly _casual_ in his opinion but what he also knew, was that his and Styles' descriptions of casual were most likely very different. The shirt was okay, quite dressy but that's why he decided to wear a pair of jeans, just insurance that he won’t be overdressed.

The clicking of the clock he hasn’t legitimately remembered ever using in the way it was intended to be used, started getting on his nerves, the barely detectable sound and the bizarre feeling that the hand wasn’t moving fast enough, almost made him toss the damn thing away like he should’ve done years ago. But no, of course, he hasn’t done that.

Only when he padded to the bedroom he hasn’t spent a single night in since he left for Manchester, well over a month ago, his mood lifted just a bit when, in the corner of his eye, he caught that Harry Styles shrine he never bothered to take down, knowing that the paint was bound to chip and he needed witnesses to coax his friends into helping him repaint the flat, the act to which he’s been preparing for at least a year now. He was on a mission to find a pair of socks devoid of holes, most of his good ones still either waiting for their turn or already spinning in the washing machine. The task of finding a presentable pair was just as hard as he predicted it to be, only reassuring his suspicion that maybe he was overdue for some serious underwear shopping.

In the past life, the one where he wasn't nearly as sexually active as he was now, he wasn't struggling too much, two good pairs enough as he only broke them out when he knew he would be stripping in front of somebody, but now that he was getting stuffed pretty much on the daily, that wasn't exactly a viable option, was it? And yes, Harry never judged his faded pants or holey socks, but he felt like he should put some effort into his appearance, especially with his partner being so… yeah.

Adding some quick shopping to his to-do list, perhaps even making it a part of a hangout he had planned with his pals, he settled for a pair of obnoxiously patterned socks he had chosen from Harry’s freebies and pulled them on, wiggling his toes to fully appreciate his stylish genius that was more a coincidence than his own doing. Nevertheless, the colourful socks gave some much-needed flair to this otherwise boring outfit.

Before he could even realise how much time he spent doing absolutely nothing, just roaming around his place, reintroducing himself to space he, for some reason, felt like a stranger in, Harry was already at the door, his knocking startling the writer to the point of almost pinching his fingers with the junk drawer where he ended up finding the cologne sample he lost all hope of ever finding.

Giving the scent some time to defuse around him after he spritzed himself carelessly, he dragged his feet towards the door, paying no mind to the fact that he was still shirtless because really, knowing him as well as he did, Harry would be delusional to expect him to be ready on time.

One last deep breath delivered oxygen to the machine led by his scattered brain and… thank god he did that because after seeing his friend at the door, he might not have a chance to take another breath in his life. 

It was not even that Harry was particularly chic or anything like that. To the contrary, he looked rather pedestrian for his standards in his denim, wide-legged jeans and a goofy t-shirt. Very effortless, the most he's done was shave, and that would be it. Maybe it was the lighting, but there was something about the grin on his face and messy, recently cut hair that made him look so fresh and… normal, for once. Maybe this time it was Louis who was going to be the _hot_ one, hm? Who was he kidding, no amount of hair wax and hours spent in front of a mirror could ever elevate him to a level he could ever compete with that boy. That boy who was still smiling like an idiot, standing on a doormat in his trainers and… _oh god,_ he brought flowers.

Stepping aside from the door, without a word, he let his guest in, obviously not ready to leave just yet and thank Jesus because he would look like an ass in that shirt that now he regretted spending those twenty minutes ironing. And yes, maybe there was just a few creases here and there, but he was never any kind of laundry virtuoso so give him a break.

“All ready to go, I see?” Harry’s eyebrow cocked up after he checked out Lou’s silhouette from head to toe, immediately going back to his friend’s face. “I bear goodies.” His grin faded into a smirk once he extended his hand, a small bouquet of wildflowers and an inconspicuous, brown paper bag given to the writer who was not even going to comment on the flowers. “I know, I know… flowers, _b_ _ut_ …” In a step or two, he approached his friend, pinched his chin in between two of his fingers and brought the man’s gaze to meet his. “This is a date old Harry would take you to, old Harry wouldn’t know that you’re too macho for that.” He flicked the tip of Lou’s nose and let go of his chin, inviting himself deeper into the apartment. “Now that I think of it, old Harry probably wouldn’t know that you’re going to love what’s in the bag either but well, I hope you’ll forgive me some plot holes.”

With that advertising, Louis’ curiosity reached a dangerous level, eager fingers trying to pry open the bag before he even neared the counter and set the bouquet aside. And if he imagined Harry picking those flowers from some wild, green meadow, especially for him, even though he knew that this sure as fuck wasn’t the case, he wasn’t going to tell anybody. “Exactly how much whoring you had to do to get them? Oh my god, they're warm." Here it was, the date could've been over, and it still would end up being the best one of his life.

Not only Harry brought him flowers, which was quite lame of him to do, but kind of cute, even if Louis still hasn’t thought about things in such categories, but he also brought him muffins… _those_ muffins. Half a dozen of steamy, fresh blueberry muffins from the bakery he could see out of his living room window. “Okay, you can go now. Best date ever.” His groan got muffled by the muffin he already bit into, his teeth catching the edge of the paper cup but really, he couldn’t care less about that. “I will marry you or whatever it is that you want from me.”

Assuming that the two of them weren’t really in a hurry, six in the evening quite early for any kind of date, he let himself sit on the couch next to Harry who might have leaned away from him when he was joined, but with the buttery, fluffy crumb on his mind, he wasn’t going to overthink that reaction. When it finally got to him how incredibly rude of him it was to act like that, suddenly giving a fuck about his etiquette, he ripped off half of the remaining piece and unapologetically pushed it into Harry's unsuspecting mouth.

“I only asked them to bake me a tin I could pick up before they close.” The boy mumbled around the piece of a muffin that was big enough to pose a challenge to get through. “But that’s for you to enjoy later, there’s more food to be eaten. Now go on, get dressed, no time to waste!” With only one of his toned arms, he managed to fully shove his friend off the couch, sending him on his merry way to pick something out to wear because the shirt he had still hung up on the door of his wardrobe, wasn’t exactly complimenting Harry’s truly casual ensemble.

“Old Harry really is something, isn’t he?” Louis barked out a laugh when he opened a lid of a Tupperware container to find smiley faces cut out from watermelon; suspiciously shapely red faces, indicative of the use of a cookie cutter of some sort, winked at him from the box. "Not seedless though, I'm deducting a point for that faux pas.” He forced a disappointed look on his face as he looked down at his friend, eyebrows furrowed as the boy laid on the blanket that restricted their area, a bunched-up tote bag a makeshift pillow under his head. The prominent rumble of unruly ocean did a great job of dulling out the intruding seagulls that squawked above their heads, searching for a spot to spend the night in as the day was slowly coming to an end, the sun already partially reunited with the horizon.

“It was supposed to be seedless.” Harry sighed out with a defeat painted on his face, his hand blindly searching for the watermelon, clumsily to the point where Louis decided to help and brought the container where his hand was, a piece of fruit an intermission before whatever it was that the boy planned to say. “I got scammed.”

Leaning down, the watermelon only halfway down his oesophagus, Louis's breath ghosted over Harry's lips, parted just slightly, incredibly inviting, although Lou had no idea whether the boy was even aware that he came off as such, especially with how anti-kiss he was that evening, more a general rule than fear of not being totally alone, the only person they’ve seen on that beach, an older gentleman walking his dog, already nearing the exit, therefore deeming them gloriously alone, not that he would have any idea who Harry was even if he wasn't expertly disguised with a hood and sunglasses as they walked past each other.

“Poor baby… A little kiss to make it better?” Louis teased, bumping the tip of his nose against Harry’s, thumbing over the boy’s chin, slowly drowning in those eyes that looked particularly green that evening, just how he liked them.

Harry scoffed, chasing his friend away with a gesture of a hand. “None of that, old Harry doesn’t kiss on the first date.” His head shook, hair further dishevelling against the tote.

“That’s why it’s not old Harry who I’m out with today. No offence but he sounds like a bit of a snooze, old Louis would show him some good time.”

“Undoubtedly.” Harry chuckled, reaching a hand to rub Louis’ palm, eventually entangling their fingers and pulling his friend onto his own chest, the movement surprisingly smooth, perfected over the course of their extensive practising. "Old Louis seems like a bit of a slut." Harry returned the jab Louis has taken on him, his whisper almost got lost in the all the hair, the older man reaching over Styles’ torso for the pick and mix bag he’s been working on since he found it in the basket.

“I wonder what old Harry would’ve thought about the way that slag was eaten out last night.” An awfully pensive expression his friend couldn’t have possibly seen, entered his face, eyes drifting to the cupped hand he held the candy in, picking those he liked for himself, those which he hasn’t, feeding to his friend, missing his mouth quite spectacularly but the boy did his best to reach however far the sweet could’ve been.

“He would be traumatised but also very turned on." The groggy voice almost inaudible in the howling wind that picked up, the last rays of sunlight keeping the surroundings from looking hostile, unwelcoming. The dunes they've decided to set a camp amongst, the only thing that sheltered them from the cold, the hoodies Styles remembered to bring for the two of them, doing good enough of a job of shielding them from the sand.

There were some things that didn’t really pan out in Harry’s plan, starting with the car ride that came up to a little short of two hours, and that was already with the boy speeding, ending on the weather that decided to drastically change in the least convenient moment. But there was this one advantage of those far from ideal conditions for a beach evening and that was the absolute solitude, the feeling like they’re the only two people on the planet and Louis, after making pros and cons list in his head, deemed the outing a huge success, exceeding his expectations by far.

Let’s just say that he was _slightly_ worried when he realised they were in Sussex. Of course, he knew that Harry isn't going to treat him to anything less than extraordinary, but with that in the back of his head, he anticipated some fancy restaurant, not… picnic on a beach, road trip included.

The food Harry brought in a wicker basket was simple enough that he believed the boy did everything by himself, Louis’ favourite things implemented throughout the whole menu, showing once again how the brunette just _remembered_ things he was told. It was peaceful, even with the clashing of the waves and the wind that got progressively stronger as the night took over. It was warm though, the two of them entangled together, unbothered, the thrill of knowing how alone they were fizzing in their veins.

They were talking, a bunch. First, there were questions, so many fucking questions, Louis torturing his friend, trying to get any clue where they were going once they’ve left London behind. Tired of the interrogation but not a smidge annoyed, Harry turned up the radio, a road trip playlist he tailored especially to the two of them overpowered Louis’ whining and soon enough, Styles was singing, the lines of “ _Seaside Rendezvous”,_ recognised immediately by the man who apparently, as the singer seemed to be thinking, needed to be schooled on the classics of the industry he was a part of.

Before he even realised that it was the case, Louis was already using his questionable vocal talent, belting into the McDonald's milkshake they might have stopped for due to his request. It didn’t look like Harry was extremely offended by his date’s outstanding performance of Oasis’ _“Live Forever”_ , after all, he had to know what he was getting himself into, picking songs he knew for a fact that Louis not only familiar with but also loved, their previous dance parties in the kitchen enough for the singer to get well versed in his friend’s music taste.

Even if the ride ended up lasting almost two whole hours, it didn’t really feel like that long. Let’s just say that travelling was far more fun while collaborating on songs that weren't ever supposed to be duets, unabashedly vocalising every word to _“Like a Prayer”_ , although their impeccable knowledge of Madonna’s lyrics was nothing against the humiliation from the fact that neither missed a single beat when it turned out that Harry put Venga Boys’ _“Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!!”_ on his playlist, most likely for the sole purpose of checking whether Louis matches his levels of cringey. He most fucking definitely did. The embarrassment wasn’t there though, the two of them way past that point in their friendship, and even _if,_ Styles had no right to judge with how his fingers tapped on the wheel, the only thing restricting him from breaking out into a dance routine.

They only finished the concert, with the silent agreement that none of them was going to even bring that up, secretly wishing for another one on their way back, when it came to leaving the Range Rover that amongst all of the pieces in Harry's collection was the least ostentatious one, the one you'd pick while striving for anonymity. The boring choice of a vehicle wasn't commented by Louis who, despite not having one himself, had this certain fondness for cars, more than likely surfacing from hours upon hours of _Top Gear,_ he watched with his friends way back in the day. He ended up appreciating the lack of attention, even more so now that they were cuddled up so out in the open, yet shielded by the dunes, the darkness and pure luck at this point.

And even if the journey to their safe spot took some time, one or two tumbles down sandy slopes, it was all well worth it. The sight of the sandy beach, stretching for miles ahead, flooded with the slightest tinge of orange from the sun that was already saying goodbye to their side of the planet, took his breath hostage for what it felt like forever. No restaurant could measure with the place Harry took him to, his own spin on the beach adventure they were discussing not that far in the past, just a skosh compromised, the best they could’ve gotten without leaving the country.

Somehow, it was better than a tropical paradise they've imagined. With some unnecessarily complicated ginger beer that tasted the same as the 50p stuff from Tesco instead of their pina coladas, crustless, triangular ham and cheese sandwiches and a whole lot of sweets instead of their seafood feast and just straight-up cuddles in place of scuba diving. Building sandcastles still made it on the list… kind of, the unimpressive mound of damp sand they’ve collaborated on, far less impressive than ruins of children’s sandcastles, poking out from the flat beach, some swept by the water once the tide reached its all-time-high.

The moon was keeping a watch on the beach, making sure that nobody interrupts the hangout that stretched for quite a while already, Louis' side sore from laying on it for so long, the man could only imagine what his companion was feeling, carrying not only his own weight but also his date's.

Styles’ fingers were brushing through his friend’s hair, fully omitting all the effort that went into the hairstyle he destroyed, and Louis really couldn’t be mad about that. Feeling his friend’s fingers grazing his scalp was worth far more than his stupid hair which time was already set on whenever his head was going to hit a pillow. “You still regret taking the deal?” The question felt incredibly out of place with the sombre vibe it carried, Harry’s other hand slowly grazing up and down Louis’ spine as the man laid on his chest, both sets of eyes glued to the stars that shone particularly bright so far away from London.

And that was… _complicated._

Because see… Harry's question very explicitly wasn't about whether or not he regretted taking the job opportunity, and both of them knew that well enough not to even pretend that it wasn’t the case. Has he regretted meeting Harry? While not that far ago, his answer wouldn’t be nearly as easy as it was now, he really hasn’t. Unquestionably, the journey Harry has taken him on, no matter when and how it was going to end, was the adventure of his lifetime, great travels with Styles, who turned out to be so much more than he ever predicted him to be, once in a lifetime opportunity he would be a fool to complain about. With the whole thing being more than he could’ve ever expected, even in his wildest dreams, that unlikely friendship was an epicentre of the majority of the things that were wrong in his life right now.

Had he not signed the deal with the personification of evil Jeff turned out to be, his life would be devoid of most of the things he had to worry about at the moment. No struggle to write a book which, well… was doing quite alright at the moment, samples flooding Azoff’s mailbox in frequency very unlike previously, when getting _anything_ from the writer felt more like pulling teeth than requesting updates on a project he was hired for. It wasn't exactly unreasonable of the manager to get worried when all he ever heard was that he and Harry didn't get along and now, even the thought of them not being, hmm… _cordial,_ made him audibly scoff as he laid on his archnemesis’ chest.

What wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t taken the job, would be that nauseating sensation in the pit of his stomach, which really couldn’t be blamed on the food, motion sickness or _anything_ that wasn't what he actually thought it was, terrified to properly name it because having it labelled would only make it more real and, well… he did not want that to be real. And it was really quite stupid that he only then acknowledged the peculiar tingle in his gut, knowing better than anybody else that it was a while since it settled there, came and went, the intensity of the sensation fully dependant on the distance between him and Harry.

Was it _love_? He couldn’t have possibly known, could he? The strain he had to go through to assign the name to the feeling was quite hilarious in his head, and he only tested if it fit there. While that little thought was amusing enough, that cheery mood hasn’t stuck for long, the sole idea of his suspicion being correct scared the hell out of him, no matter that not that far ago he hoped for exactly what it was that was happening to him, just to find out how it felt, just to be normal. And now that he felt _something_ , even if only a prelude to the main event that was more than likely already approaching, he was mortified.

"Not anymore." He found himself answering before making a conscious decision to do that, a deep sigh concluding the exhausting thought process in his head, the one he decided to shut down, for now, eager to enjoy every second of the moment that was bound to come to an end soon, both of them knowing that there are only so many hours to the night and they had yet to get back home. Louis already pitying Harry, who he knew had to wake up bright and early but now, that they were laying like that, seen only by the stars, he could not bring himself to voice his concern, refusing to be the one who hastens the inevitable end of their first, actual date.

The sun was already peeking through the windows, only slightly easing the darkness of the corridor that led to Louis’ apartment, the motion-controlled lights already snapped off as the two of them stood on the doormat, very unwilling to separate, even if they’ve spent good ten hours together. “Wanna come in? For tea, a beer or… please?” Louis probably should’ve felt pathetic, so embarrassingly needy, his eyes begging for any scraps Harry had to give as he still held his hand out, playing with the rings on his date’s fingers, the darkness and early hour enough of a cover for their intimacy.

A huff of air was pushed out of Harry’s nostrils, a gentle shaking of his head showing the great amusement he found in Lou’s desperation to keep him for longer. “I’m a gentleman, I could never.” His whisper almost got lost before it reached ears it was intended for. “Am I understanding correctly that you’ve had fun?” The dark colour of his hair the only reason why Tomlinson could see that his eyebrow cocked up in a question, Harry’s thumb trying to reach his friend’s restless fingers that no matter what, avoided being captured.

The softest of sighs left Lou’s lungs, the man thinking that it was already quite obvious that he has, in fact, enjoyed their night. Everything; the food, their car concerts, planes they mistook for falling stars, the seagull that almost scared him to his grave as they were already going back to the car, the driftwood that was another thing that was in on the plan of ending his life. Joke's on the log because upon tripping, he stumbled upon the cutest little shell. Remembering the souvenir he took from the beach, besides the buckets upon buckets of sand he smuggled in his shoes, pockets and various crevices, he reached for the shell he had in his pocket, thumbing the surface of it before he pushed it into Harry’s hand he was still holding, a bit bummed out that he was parting with it but also glad that his date was going to have that one.

“How about now? Will you come in?” The question was repeated just as Styles was admiring the gift he got from his friend.

Despite his hardest efforts to stay as quiet as he could, trying not to disturb any neighbours, Harry couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, hiding the shell into the pocket of his jeans. “Seashell for a night? Fair price.” His feet carried him closer, just a bit since there wasn’t exactly a lot of space between the two of them either way. Louis' back was pressed flat to the door of his pad.

Breathing heavily against Styles' sound chest, Louis' eyes jumped all over his companion's face, assessing the chances of Harry actually staying the night, even the idea of groping him till he complies flashing through his mind but then, the whole thing was so incredibly innocent, he didn’t want to taint it with his horniness, even though he already might have, his hand not coming off the brunette’s thigh for the whole ride back.

As desperate as he was not to be alone for the night, Harry’s sudden chastity extremely ridiculous when you take into the account that he literally woke him up with a blowjob just this morning, he was going to settle for a kiss that was very slowly coming his way, Styles’ minty breath prickling the writer’s skin before he rose on his tippy toes and slotted their lips together, a shiver of excitement shaking his body with the thrill of danger of being seen like that, Harry’s palms almost completely covering his face, the kiss slowly growing more heated for which Louis was going to take the blame. "I've had so much fun." His whisper spilt over Styles' smirk. "Though next time, I'm taking care of the playlist." The tip of his nose nudged the end of his friend's. "No _“Mr Brightside”?_ What kind of britphobic nonsense is that?” Seeing the last opportunity to do so, he quickly pecked the plump pillows of the singer’s lips he never had enough of.

He wasn’t mistaken, Harry straightened his posture, his lips out of reach even if Louis stayed on his toes. “So there’s going to be a next one?” His cheeks dimpled in the widest grin Tomlinson might have seen on this face, maybe ever.

“I think it was settled once I’ve opened the bakery bag.” His hand reached and thumbed over Harry’s soft cheek. “Speaking of…” The expression on his face changed into something he hoped was alluring. “I have a bunch of really quite pleasant muffins I can’t possibly get through alone, maybe breakfast will persuade you to stick around?”

“Not today, you menace.” He blinked slowly, pulling Louis by the hip for another, quick kiss, apparently not that eager to leave even despite the reluctancy to stay the night. “Old Harry doesn’t shag on the first date.”

“Fucking hell, gonna have to wait till marriage with that one." The apples of his cheeks pinched the corners of his eyes, the smile disappearing once he realised that Harry's hand was slipping away from his grip. "When have I started dating such prudes, really?" He whined, catching Styles' sleeve in a desperate attempt for the boy to stick around.

“We should’ve done this way earlier, I’ll call you in the morning, yeah?”

“If by _morning..._ ” He air-quoted the noun, although he had his doubts whether his fingers could’ve been even seen from the surplus of fabric covering his palms. “You mean three in the afternoon… sure, call me.” His palm slipped down Harry’s hand, the attempt at anchoring at his fingers unsuccessful. “Goodnight?” The last dose of uncertainty in the farewell just another opening for the boy to say that he’ll stay.

He hasn't said that, though. They've shared a quick farewell kiss before Harry turned on his heel and left, that unusual spring to his step made Louis roll his eyes as he locked the door behind himself, just a bit reluctant to do that _IF_ Styles decided to stay after all, not that there was anything indicating the change of mind.


	26. Chapter 26

“So what? You just left and never got back to him?” A surprising dose of judgement made it into the question he asked Andrew as the two of them were making the last steps it took to get to Louis’ apartment. “Cruel.” That one he left mostly for himself, only soft murmur under his nose his friend couldn’t have possibly heard from where he was.

“Yeah, and since when are you so compassionate to ghosting victims?” The taller man scoffed, putting so much effort in sounding insulted, he nearly walked into a small woman he must’ve not seen from where his head was up in the clouds. “What exactly do you think I should’ve done, mister relationship expert?” The inquiry spiced with derision so palpable he could almost taste it on his tongue.

Okay, fair enough, Louis was no relationship expert or anything like that, Drew well aware that it was the case, using it to take a jab at his friend… BUT, it really didn't take a virtuoso to know that ghosting your supposed boyfriend after a mild argument wasn't exactly the way an adult man should handle minor inconveniences in a relationship. Ghosting a one-night stand that's not too keen on acknowledging that the thing was exactly that, a one-time thing? Fine, he wasn't going to pretend he wasn't guilty of this offence but when you have established something in the shape of a relationship… it was fucked up, and he wasn't going to act like he didn't see anything wrong with his pal's bullshit.

“Talking your shit out seems like a good place to start, when have you left?”

"Like two weeks ago, a bit more than that, yeah." The man caught one of the bags in between his teeth and opened the door to Lou's apartment with the spare key he was trusted with, seeing that his friend had quite a bunch more things to carry than his four paper bags. "I've been crashing at Johnny's, but you can imagine how big of a nightmare it is with those damn cats."

"Poor soul... must've spent a fortune on lint rollers." Ingenuine compassion filled the silence in the flat they've walked into, the bags that successfully cut the circulation to his palms were dropped to the floor, the writer groaning at the lack of weight in his palms. "Want a beer?" He asked his friend, who already claimed the whole couch with his oversized limbs. He crossed the way to the fridge, picking two Heinekens before he even got the answer, setting the beers next to the flower bouquet he had in the middle of the kitchen island, very elegantly exhibited in a former gherkins jar that was the best thing he could find in the cupboards.

Keeping the bouquet anywhere but in his bedroom proved to be a mistake, Andy’s scoff indicative of how bad he fucked up. Goddammit, he should’ve known better than that. “What are these?”

“Flowers, are you mentally challenged?” The decision of keeping the secret was a sudden one, Louis knowing damn well that once the person who brought the flowers was revealed, he would be swamped with questions he didn’t want to answer even if he could, both from the fact that he still wasn't sure how much of his relationship with Harry was a secret kept under the NDA and also, he still didn't know himself what he could tell any of his friends, simply because he had yet to figure out what it was that he felt towards the boy.

That bouquet had another not desirable function besides looking pretty and summoning uncomfortable questions. Among all of those, it also was a great reminder of the boy who brought it there, specifically, at this moment, the fact that the boy hasn't called yet and while Louis hasn't exactly thought that his phone would start ringing once the hand points at three, his lack of patience still manifested quite loudly, the rumbling in his veins and the fizziness in his stomach, composing a rhapsody which was the sole thing keeping him in an upright position, practically running on fumes since he woke up far too early, no perspective of hitting the pillow anywhere in sight.

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen when Harry finally calls, and he's left with nothing to anticipate. His priorities were quite brutal, especially considering that he had a whole evening with the guys ahead of him, but there was really no use claiming that he wasn't on pins and needles since he got up. From the second, he regained consciousness after a restless night, he was pretty much trying to telepathically send the boy a message that he wasn’t asleep anymore, hoping that somehow Harry was going to receive it and call earlier.

None of that happened though, it was twenty after three, and he was yet to get the call he anticipated with manic desperation, just to hear the voice he hasn't heard in not more than twelve hours. On the scale measuring a level of pathetic, he was somewhere around eight, not yet crazy enough to call or text the boy himself but desperate to the point that Harry was all he could think about. If only Andrew knew how sleepless his last night was, the vacancy of the space next to him loud enough to keep him up, he would’ve died from the second-hand embarrassment. Thankfully enough, there was no way he could ever get a glimpse of Lou’s thoughts, all of them kept a secret from anybody but him, the weight of it all slowly getting too heavy to carry on his shoulders.

Louis tripped over his feet, in desperation searching for his friends that were lost somewhere in the dancing crowd, although it looked more like he was the one who got lost, the music overwhelming him, rhythmic pulsing in his head louder than his scattered thoughts, the rumbling beneath his feet confusing his already compromised motoric functions. Regaining some balance with help from a tall blonde he caught in last effort not to fall to his demise, the possibility of getting trampled by feet of dancing, drunk people very real at the moment, he nodded when asked whether he’s okay or not, clearly as fuck lying to the woman, restless eyes darting from face to face, desperate to find at least somebody familiar, feeling incredibly vulnerable all by himself, the unreasonable threat in the back of his head keeping him from thinking straight.

With his mind already compromised by the alcohol, the blaring music trembling under his feet, frantic blinking of colourful strobe lights and, most of all, the edible he had before they got into the club, he felt like he wasn't going to find any of his friends, ever, ready to vanish into thin air and become a topic of a true-crime documentary about a fool who disappeared in a night club. When the list of people who looked like they might have been plotting his murder went into double digits, he spotted a characteristic, impeccably sculpted fringe, the rest of Andy’s silhouette recognized as he got closer, immediately hanging himself on his friend’s arm, interrupting seemingly pleasant chat the man had with a stranger.

“I need to leave. Get me out of here, I’m not okay.” Searching for something to keep his body upright, he clasped the edge of the sticky bar, preventing himself from collapsing, his mate immediately providing much-needed support with his hands.

Seeing that this was no overdramatization on Louis’ part, Andy got up from his seat and apologized to the new friend he made in the club, leaning down, brushing Lou’s hair away from his face, assessing something in his blown-out pupils, the writer constantly mumbling how he needed to leave, the utmost urgency he pushed into his voice paid off with the last drop of clear-mindedness on his face.

After quite a struggle to get through the herd of people to the exit, the two of them finally got out on the pavement, Louis’ moves clumsy to the point where he had to be pretty much led out, his state questioned by one of the bouncers as Drew sat his friend on the curb. “Can you take me home? I _need_ to get home.” Tomlinson urged, his body swayed how the wind pushed it as he sat cross-legged on the pavement, his back to the bouncers and the door.

Squatting in front of his friend, in the space between two parked cars, Andy sandwiched Lou's face in his big palms, bringing fogged-over eyes which blue was barely visible from how big his pupils have gotten, searching for any trace of intelligence. "We're going home, I just need to grab the other two, okay?" No reaction to the question he was asked, his head staying up only due to the other man's grip. "I'm going back in, but you'll stay here, understand? I'll be quick."

“I need to leave.”

"Of course, I know. I'm going to take you home in a minute, yeah?" Louis' head swayed forward a bit, the nod that might as well not have been a nod at all, taken as an answer. "These two gentlemen are going to look over you, so don't go anywhere, no monkey business." Andy's voice mere whisper as he promised something he couldn't have known the bouncers would go with.

It seemed like they have, at least one of them as Drew slipped a tenner into his hand, exchanging an understanding look with the man who looked like every bouncer you would ever see on the television. Without the threat of Louis wandering around, his confusion the screaming reason why something like that wasn’t a good idea, the friend slipped back into the club, searching the place for the other two, with the haziness of his brain not even close to matching Louis’, the task turned out to be far easier.

Wobbling silhouette of a dazed writer sat slouched on the curb of the pavement, the danger of falling onto the asphalt only threatened with a few scrapes which were a mild risk considering that there were far worse things that could happen to him if he wasn't sheltered by two cars parked on either side of him. The lights of passing vehicles disoriented him even more, each bright flash in his eyes like a reset button that caused his stoned brain to reboot, not enough time to do that before he was flashed again and again up until he got lost in it, not even trying to regain consciousness, straight up staring at the corroded door of a white Vauxhall Astra he only recognized because he owned one of those once, back in the day, his own similarly aged as the one he was staring at.

Before his scattered brain could’ve even registered the action, he was already dialling Harry’s number, impatiently scraping his shoe on the asphalt as the boy wasn’t picking up. _“Well hello there, haven’t expected your call. What a nice little surprise.”_ Louis could practically feel the vibration of his friend's chuckle on his ear, exhaling a bit deeper than usual, his anxiety slightly eased by the boy's cheerful tone. _“You’re home yet? Quite early for that, innit?”_

 _“Not home, on a street.”_ Barely coherent grumble struggled through his throat as he looked down, tucking loose ends of a shoestring into the shoe, doubting if his mind is clear enough for him to tie them together.

 _“What do you mean on a street? What are you doing there?”_ Confusion almost matching Louis’, audible in brunette’s voice, even groggier through the phone, soothing, familiar.

 _”I’m sitting on the pavement, looking at cars.”_ As descriptive as he could be right now, he explained his situation, not really aware that Styles was still far from clarity about his whereabouts.

 _"Are you okay? Have you drunk too much? Where are you? I can get you an Uber, but you need to tell me where you are. What do you see?"_ A sigh concluded the extensive questioning, very explicitly screaming ‘worry’, Louis practically able to see the furrow of his friend’s eyebrows.

Taking a gander around himself, assessing the distance between him and the bouncers, he lowered his voice to the point when, according to his sloppy calculations, nobody would hear him. He pressed the microphone closer to his lips, laboured breathing making it through the line, straight to Harry. _“I ate a pot cookie.”_ The airy chuckle that broke his statement very mismatched with his altogether behaviour, although it might have been the calming effect Styles seemed to have on him. _“I’m seeing cars, a lot of them. There’s an Astra_ … _You know what? I had one a few years ago, I got rid of it, too much traffic here.”_ A sigh chopped the pointless rant he decided to pursue. _“Mine was red though, red is faster, you know that?”_

 _“Oh, of course. Red is most certainly faster than others.”_ The thought of Louis being in danger must’ve eased up a bit due to that random story from the past, the concern still there but not as urgent as previously. _“How do you feel? You’re having fun?”_ Just to make sure, the boy inquired.

Louis shook his head vigorously, not exactly sober enough to comprehend that there was no way Harry could’ve seen it. _“I can’t breathe.”_ The confession took the shape of a distressed yelp, a sharp, shallow inhale following.

 _“I’ll come and get you, just drop the pin and send me, alright?”_ That note of utmost urgency a dead giveaway that the boy was distraught, rightfully so. But Louis didn’t get that from his voice, he just mumbled something into his phone, pulled another of his shoelaces to match the other foot and chuckled at his own doing.

 _"They will take me home, miss you, Harry. Ta ta."_ Without any further explanation, at least who exactly were ‘they’, he ended the call, pushing his phone into the pocket of the hoodie Harry borrowed him last night, pulling on the flaps of loose material and wrapping it tightly around his middle, trying to shield himself from blows of cold wind.

After the call ended, it didn’t take long for his friends to get back, maybe three failed attempts at tying his shoelaces combined.

“Has he said anything?” The tallest of the group asked the muscly man once all of their group left the establishment, both Johnny and Marco immediately approaching Louis who still sat in the same exact way he was sitting when he was left alone for a brief moment, fiddling with fingers he held in his lap.

The head propped atop thick neck shook gently, the guard strangely unbothered with the situation. “He called somebody.” Barely there eyebrows pinched together, indicating that there was more to come. “A Harry.”

Only upon getting to his apartment, assisted by three friends whose familiarity did nothing in regards to that awful, anxious feeling that returned as soon as Harry’s voice was not there to soothe him, he felt his lungs expand a bit, enough that he could take a shallow breath, the action he was prohibited from up until that point. There was still this bizarre feeling of being stuck in a rubbish compactor, the walls slowly but surely closing on him.

The grim atmosphere among the guys lounging on the living room set surely hasn’t helped him, not at all. His pals’ uncertainty what they should do with him, their logical thinking blanketed under cannabis haze, led to them staying quiet, exchanging unsure looks between each other, watching over a friend who sat in the armchair with his legs curled to his chest, twisting and pulling on his own fingers. With his brain being a complete scramble, he was only able to produce an incoherent mumble in place of a joke he tried to make to loosen the atmosphere a bit.

“I need to lay down.” He finally muttered from behind the curtain of hair that fell on his face when he looked down at his own feet.

Johnny looked over at Andy who out the four of them was the most logical one, having abstained from pot this night. The boy’s eyes darted back to Louis, who was already getting up from the armchair. "We'll stick around if you need us, yeah?" He reassured the host when neither of three volunteered to babysit Louis by themselves.

The room was still spinning when his head hit the pillow, at least now he was laying down without the responsibility for his own steps that very easily could’ve landed him face-down on the floor. It was really a miracle that he hasn’t done that on his way to the bed, though that might have been the strategy he adapted that led to him clinging to every piece of furniture he passed.

Confused both physically and mentally, he let his eyes fall closed, chasing after the remnant of sleep that stuck by, not replaced by… whatever the fuck was happening to him. No amount of pillows he piled on top of his head managed to filter out the cackling of three guys in the living room, the effects the edibles had on him far different from what they did to Johnny and Marco, clearly now less concerned about their friend’s wellbeing as they couldn’t see the trembling of his hands, absent eyes or suspicious gazes Louis threw at them.

Laying on his side, arms tucked in between his thighs, desperately seeking for anything that could anchor him, still not even close to finding solace in his own embrace, his eyelids started getting heavier, disobeying the decisions his brain made, staying closed even though maniacally staring at the cactus his mother gave him as a housewarming gift helped a bit with the anxiety that set a camp in the back of his head.

Falling in and out of sleep, his overwhelmed brain decided to fully ignore the commotion that broke out in the living room, the change of character of the previous hangout also neglected by his ears that focused on absolutely nothing, just as if some wires inside his body disconnected, depriving him of a few of the senses he always took for granted.

Feeling the sudden uneasiness, the sensation almost like he wasn’t fully alone, he stirred on the bed, head still avalanched with the few pillows he had in his bed, a pained grunt still making it through tightly packed feathers in dark cases. With an irrational feeling of the collar of his t-shirt tightening around his neck, he hooked it with an index finger and pulled it away from his chest, giving himself some room to breathe.

The darkness he willingly subjected himself to, was a big part of why he jerked upwards upon feeling somebody's fingers brushing against his, a sudden thud above his head was the reason why he even knew that he bumped his head on the headboard, the pain dulled out to the point of being barely noticeable, the connection between his brain and neuroreceptors clearly troubled.

Some of the light from the living room made it through narrow slits between his eyelids and only then, the pillows were pushed off his face, revealing a guest he hasn’t expected though probably should’ve.

With a deep groove in between his eyebrows, scrutinizing look in the green of his eyes, Harry knelt next to the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, searching for something familiar in glassy, anxiety-filled blue looking back at him. Yes, he has seen Louis stoned, of course, he has, but there was something different to the usual haziness. "You've scared the shit out of me." The boy murmured against the palm he pressed to his lips after carefully evaluating it as if he was expecting to see any physical harm on his friend. "How do you feel? Have you eaten? You want me to kick them out so you can sleep it off?” He thumbed over Louis’ eyebrow, the slightest bit of understanding in blue eyes indicative that it was already getting better.

“Can’t sleep, was hiding here.” Thinking that his explanation was clear enough, he let his eyes fall closed, clicking sound emerging from his mouth as he tried to get rid of the dryness on his tongue, the taste of two beers he had in the club already gone, along with all the moisture in his mouth.

“Hiding from what?”

His eyes snapped open, anxiously looking at the door as if he expected somebody to bust them open. “Andy.” He drew through clenched teeth, scratching the itch on his nose with the top of his palm.

"Look at me." Harry started getting impatient, eager to find out what it was that led Louis to act so bizarrely. Desperate enough, he sandwiched his friend's face between his palms, the situation annoyingly familiar to the older man. "Has Andrew given something to you? Is that why you're hiding?" For a split second, his eyes darted to the door, following the lead of his friend who was still skipping between the wooden panel and Styles' face. "Talk to me, Louis.” Something hysteric in the usual viscous molasses that his voice resembled, the soothing quality long gone.

Absolutely overlooking Styles’ hardest efforts to get some grasp on the situation, Louis’ lips bent in a delirious smirk, the bottom of his face hidden under the t-shirt he pulled up with the finger he still had hooked over the neckline. “I think he knows, Harry.” The whisper more of a wisp of air, barely recognizable through the cotton of the t-shirt. A chuckle that followed, far clearer.

To say that the singer was confused would’ve been an understatement, the frown not leaving his face for as little as a second, deepening and easing, depending on the clarity of the statements Louis was making. “Knows what?”

“That we… you know.” Nope, he hasn’t known, scrambling his brain for answers yielding no results. “ _Like_ each other.” The writer looked around like a child scared to be caught using profanity, mouth still hidden, not that he needed an additional obstruction to his already laboured breathing.

And here it was, a smile made it onto Styles’ lips when the suspicion that Louis could’ve been roofied by any of his friends eased up a bit, still not fully disappearing. “That’s not important right now, I think you should get something in your belly, yeah? There’s pizza in the kitchen.” Glassy eyes sparked with excitement, Lou’s body sitting up, perhaps a tad too rapidly, dark spots clouding his vision for a second or two. “We need to hurry though, I think there’s a serious epidemic of munchies out there.”

Louis didn’t have to be told twice, jumping onto his legs, stumbling into Harry’s sure grip that provided much-needed support to his wobbly body. “Who were you drinking with? Has somebody bought you a drink or…?”

“Don’t be jealous.” The writer chuckled, dismissing this misinterpreted inquiry with a gesture of a hand, limp wrist causing him to bump his hand on the doorframe as he was led out of the bedroom by his friend who slowly transported him towards the armchair he was previously sitting on.

Harry's reasoning for the question was far different than Louis assumed it was, just trying to cross out the possibility of his friend being drugged out of the list. “M’not.” His lips accidentally brushed over Lou’s auricle as he sat him down in the chair, a pensive look on his face since none of his questions have been answered, it didn’t look like any clarification was coming.

“Thank you.” Louis dragged out the show of gratitude when he took the plate Harry fixed for him, devouring half a slice of pepperoni pizza in one bite.

“The sauce is utter shite, it’s better without.” One of the two guys sitting on the couch, his name either Marco or Johnny, although he wasn’t going to risk it and assign the name when he wasn’t sure, warned Harry when he was just about to smear Louis’ slices with the tomato puree.

“I’ll see what I can get from the fridge, yeah?” Styles asked his friend, knowing damn well that he was going to find something, Louis’ fridge mostly filled with condiments the man had no food to put on.

After mixing a concoction from ketchup and some Italian seasoning he found in the spice cupboard as well as a hand-squeezed lemonade, he crossed the distance between him and Louis in just a few, long strides. “Drink up, it’s supposed to help.” He urged the confused friend who was staring at Andrew’s face, squinting his eyes, scrutinizing his mate who was just as clueless about the source of the sudden hostility as every other person.

Thankfully, the staring contest was interrupted by knocking on the door that caused Lou's body to jump in his seat, watching over his shoulder as Andrew gets up and goes to open, not even a minute later his hands already full of takeaway they've ordered before Harry got there. "I'd say six, hardly a competition for the pizza boy that surprised us earlier." In their usual fashion of rating delivery boys, Andy voiced his opinion, leaving Harry quite confused, gaining himself even more thunderous looks from Louis who wasn't as oblivious of what the man was talking about. "And here I was thinking that peng delivery boys were a thing of the past." With a playful smirk glued to his face, Andy started unpacking the bags he brought to the coffee table. "Tofu for Johnny, spring rolls galore for Marco, dumplings mine, Louis' stir fry and for Harry… whatever he chooses, we can share, can’t we, boys?” A murmur of agreement travelled through the couch, men already occupied with their food, chasing big bites with gulps of beer they’ve allowed themselves to take from the fridge.

Taken aback by Andrew's direct approach, especially considering that he met that man once in his life, very brief encounter after one of his shows, Harry shook his head, looking at Louis with terror in his gaze he didn't know if the writer deciphered. "Thanks so much, already eaten though." A polite smile bent his lips for a quick second before he focused back on Tomlinson, carefully observing the host from the comfort of the second armchair, Drew's gaze uncomfortable sensation on the side of his face.

The atmosphere loosened a bit as the time went by and the three started coming off their highs, Louis quite a bit slower than the rest, his face still absent, a borderline green tint to his skin as his bloodshot eyes stared at the darkness out of the window. "You're nauseous?" The question was asked when all three of Louis' friends went to the balcony to smoke.

No words were needed when the writer's face was so explicitly uncomfortable, the hand he rested on his navel only further confirming the suspicion. "Maybe it would help if you threw up?" A non-committing suggestion hung in the air as Harry was crossing the room back and forth, doing his best to prevent the place from becoming a mess, the bottles and dishes were taken care of by the singer as the four friends hung out together, playing FIFA and just catching up with their lives. His presence hasn't seemed to bother any of them, unabashedly sharing the most intimate secrets even with a stranger in the room.

“I don’t throw up.” Louis stubbornly claimed, pulling knees up to his chin, glazed-over eyes desperately avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“I could help you.”

“What? Gonna shove your fingers up my throat?” He cringed at the thought of how humiliating the experience would’ve been, the fact that he was even able to think in those categories a good sign for his recovery. “Thanks, I’d rather die.”

“And you’re completely fine with them being shoved up the other end. Makes sense.” Harry scoffed, his nerves a bit loosened once he realized that the food and tips he found on the internet helped Louis come off the high that turned out to be far more than he bargained for, although he should’ve known that being hungry and sleep-deprived were hardly good conditions to do edibles in. While he might have not taken the consequences of reckless pot consumption seriously enough before, he sure as fuck was going to keep that in mind after the nightmare which remnants still lingered in the back of his head. “More lemonade?”

Louis' head shook a bit, bad move with the headache that started settling in his skull once the unfounded paranoia started fizzling out. Still, the ache was better than another glass of sour garbage, Harry dared to call a lemonade. Thirsty, he reached for the bottle of water and started gulping it like he hasn't had a drop of liquid in days, his neck shifting with every sip, adam's apple bobbing as the water went down the oesophagus.

"Are you staying over?" The host asked, his voice lowered, so it doesn't reach the balcony, fingers tugging on the hem of his jeans, telling everything there was to say about how desperate he was for a sleepover. With his mind still somewhat compromised, perhaps even needier than last night, terrified of what would happen once Harry's not there to soothe him with his presence only. 

Getting back into the living room with a beer he brought along the pizzas, Harry changed his spot to one on the couch, quite uncomfortable from all the gazes Andrew gave him throughout the evening. “If you let me.” The shrug did a great job of making him look unbothered, joined by the slouched position that even further pushed that façade. 

"And if I don't?" Here it was, the usual, pain in the ass Louis was making his comeback.

“Then I’ll go back to writing how unbearably I am missing you.” The sweetest of smirks struck with yet another jolts of nausea, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed once he noticed the unusual reaction, waiting for his friend to complain, not knowing that nothing was going to be said; the impulse already gone, only the usual discomfort left in the pit of Lou’s stomach, joined by another, nauseating for a whole different reason sensation; pure fondness stirring his guts, driven solely by Styles’ presence.

“That’s nonsense, you should just stay here.” Louis’ brain almost completely sobered up when, in between FIFA matches they were taking turns on, Marco broke the news of a threat of homelessness that hung above his head when his landlords decided to kick him out for no reason whatsoever, just like that, on a whim.

“When was that when I was the homeless one?” Drew’s lips rounded in exaggerated shock that met only with the roll of Lou’s eyes.

“He’s allergic to cats, he can’t live at Johnny’s.” Louis argued.

"I am allergic too." Three pairs of eyes, belonging to guys that knew too damn well that it was a bunch of shite, snapped to Andrew's bored expression. "Allergic to being woken up at five in the morning by said cats." Nope, the argument not good enough to awake any sense of compassion in Louis who was just straight-up pissed off at his friend and his thirst that manifested so loudly, making Harry visibly uncomfortable since it was him who got targeted.

He wanted to say that this was all and Styles’ sake was all there was to his hostility, even though it obviously wasn’t. Jealousy, a fiery rod burning deep in his gut every time his friend even as little as looked at Harry with an unusual flutter to his eyelashes or smirked in a way he didn’t like, very loud and clear in both his thoughts and actions. Fair, he shouldn’t be reacting nearly as strongly when he spent half of his day convincing Drew that there was nothing between him and Harry but yet, there he was, cursing his best mate out in his thoughts.

Another deadly curse fell on his friend’s account when he turned to Harry, his body language explicitly stating his intentions. “Don’t you have some rentals around? I’ve read about you being quite a businessman with all the investments, surely you have to have something vacant?”

“I would have to ask, there’s too much happening to keep a cap on everything.” Being an absolute champ, Styles kept professional, nodding his head once before he hid behind his beer.

“As if you can afford it.” Johnny, around the bite of Marco’s leftover spring roll, voiced the exact thing Louis was suppressing, sitting this one out since the guys must’ve noticed how noticeably harsher he was on his best mate than usually. Thank God for Johnny, his scoff spreading like a virus amongst all of them.

Drew straightened his posture even further, growing at least three inches where he was already towering above all of them, Tomlinson shocked that this was even possible with how impeccably the man always carried himself around, faux disbelief manifesting on his face. “I’m a _chief editor_ right now, I don’t think money would be the issue.” The joke fell flat, none of their five laughing. “I wouldn’t mind overpaying for a landlord like that, I can already imagine all the things I could break just to have an excuse to call.”

“Yeah, that… I’m not really the one who goes around the place, wearing a plaid shirt with a wrench in my hand, tending to plumbing emergencies and such.” Harry managed to amuse himself with the vision he created in his head, catching a glimpse of Louis’ lips bending ever so slightly, just enough for the singer to notice.

A sigh that screamed disappointed, vibrated through the apartment, Drew sucking from his bottle, holding eye-contact with Styles, releasing the rim with a loud _pop_ which, in Louis’ head, was three times as loud as in the others’. “What a pity, thanks for the visual though.”

Louis jerked from his seat, with surprising stability turning to the bathroom door, taking the longest strides he could manage, desperate to get there before a tragedy happens. "I'm going to be sick." He muttered as he slammed the door closed, a bit too much force put into it, considering the late hour.

Barely making it to the bowl, Louis fell to his knees by the toilet, thanking whoever for not closing the lid as his stomach convulsed, whole body jerking as he threw up despite the claim that he doesn’t do that. Maybe back in the day, yeah, he hasn’t. But the days of that hardly honourable title were long gone, he probably should stop sticking to it as if it was something to take pride in.

The bathroom door creaked behind him, another spasm pulling his body forwards, his brain occupied with a thought that the passion between him and Harry is long gone now that he saw him in this situation, emptying his stomach into a shitter, an acidic tang to the air in the bathroom.

The lack of any reassurance, whether physical or verbal, was surprising to Louis who kind of expected something like that, but it's not like he could blame the boy for being disgusted by his puke. He just stood behind him, tapping pads of his fingers on some flat surface, small noises audible between the retching, enough to add to the pile of things that irritated him that evening.

“And here I was thinking you were full of shit.” An unmeasurable load of relief eased up one of his spasms once he realized that the deep voice behind him was Andrew's, not Harry's. His however ridiculous act of trying to throw up as gracefully as he could manage, fully dropped, no pretence around Drew who not only pissed him off that evening but also has seen him in far worse conditions than that. "I think I'm obliged to say that Harry wanted to check on you, the consternation on his face when he tried to find an excuse why he should be the one seeing… this.” Louis could _hear_ the grimace, vomit hardly a matter Andy was comfortable around. “Priceless, poor chap.”

As soon as Harry’s name came into play, Lou’s stomach calmed down a bit, maybe it was coincidental, maybe not. Panting above the bowl filled with the contents of his stomach, he turned his head to the side. “Aren’t you busy cheating on the boyfriend that, I remind you, you still _technically_ have?” Surprised with his own animosity, he wiped his lips with the top of his palm, feeling that there’s nothing more he could possibly throw up. “Sorry you have to see this, it must’ve been your terrible attempts at being enticing that made me sick.” Proud of his quick wit, he flushed the toilet, dragging his feet to the mirror, grimacing at his own reflection.

“Fair, I thought I was going to get punched for messing with your boyfriend.” A smug smirk stuck to that handsomely angular mug of Andy’s as his tall, clothed in black silhouette nonchalantly leaned on the shower door.

Mouth busy with minty liquid he’s been swirling in it, trying to rid of the disgusting taste that he was left with, Louis couldn’t really protest. Not that he was going to, already acknowledging that there’s no use doing that, Drew knowing him too well not to see through his bullshit. And you know what? He was glad, real fucking chuffed that his friend’s bizarre behaviour was there just to prove a point, his sick not only thing that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Spitting foamy blue out of his mouth, he took another swig, just for good measure, uncertainly glancing at Drew's unbothered expression in the mirror. "It's fucked up that I had to make a fool out of myself just to get you to admit It. We're brothers, you don't have to keep anything from me." The perfectly sculpted hairstyle not even twitching as the man's slim neck shook in disbelief. "Should've told me when you were here last time, not acting like I am the crazy one." The slightest bit of resentment making it through to Louis.

“Nothing was happening when I was here last time.” Tomlinson denied, his statement only slightly differing from the truth. “It’s really nothing.” The guilty expression on his face hidden by the water he decided to splash on it, the coldness of it a pleasant prickle on his heated skin, sobering him up even further.

Lying to Drew hasn’t come to him much easier than misleading himself with what it was that he felt, the man pretty much a brother he never had, although the start of their friendship far from brotherly. “Not gonna lie, feels nice knowing that there was nothing wrong with me, only your sky-high expectations.” A deep chuckle exchanged between the two as they reminisced Drew’s hardest efforts to seduce Louis, very unsuccessful.

“Oh, there was plenty wrong with you.” Louis elbowed his friend on their way out of the bathroom, the writer stumbling just a bit, with that layer of urgency to his step taken away, he became far clumsier.

“No, _you_ are the best.” Harry’s chuckle was the first thing that hit the two of them upon arrival, eyes darting straight towards the tender moment happening on the couch.

“I love you, man. Are you happy?” Marco mumbled the question out, his body slouched against Harry’s. “You should be happy, you deserve it.”

“I am very happy, thank you. I hope you are too.” The green of Styles’ pupils quickly snapped to the blue of Louis’, the corners of his eyes pinched adorably by the apples of his cheeks.

Listening in on some more incoherent mumbling, Marco clearly overindulging in either alcohol or pot, Louis settled himself on the armchair, Andy’s hand spreading on his shoulder as he observed Harry’s moment with a man he barely knew. “I think you’ve had enough, teddy bear.” The tallest man approached the pile of men on the couch, Johnny quite there but not really, tapping away on his phone that maybe he shouldn’t have been trusted with now that he was intoxicated.

“I’m staying at Harry’s.” Marco resisted, slouching into his new best friend as he was manhandled by Andy, Styles helping out with getting the compact pal upright.

"Sorry but we've flipped the coin, and Harry is staying to babysit Louis tonight.”

“Oh no.” Mere grumble settled on Andy’s ear as the boy was held up.

“Yeah, what a nightmare. Can you imagine?” Drew shook his head in faux worry. “Poor lad, yeah?”

With only a 'humpf' instead of an answer, all four but Louis made it downstairs, successfully getting the group inside of an Uber Johnny had ordered for them. Apparently, the friend was far more logical than Louis would ever give him credit for being. 

Waiting for Harry to get back seemed like a huge waste of time, that’s why he decided to use the few minutes he had and jumped into the shower, still slightly dizzy but conscious enough to consider going to sleep with all the grime from nightclub unacceptable, absolutely not. The last of his tragic high was washed away by the tepid water he let fall on his face for a bit before he started lathering his body with shower gel, the remnants of the haze his head was surrounded in for the evening, sucked up in the drain along with the suds that slipped down his unevenly tanned body.

Slightly disappointed, secretly hoping that for some company in the shower, Louis accepted that this was not going to be the case and stepped out of the cabin, wet feet leaving marks all over dark tiles until he reached the sink, keeping eyes down as he brushed his teeth, not too eager to see the mess that was bound to look back at him once he glances in the mirror.

Striving to provide the best sleepover experience, acting like some fucking Airbnb host, he shuffled through the cabinet where he kept all the chemicals, linens and well… adult stuff, in search for that one good towel he kept for guests, quickly navigating heavy, graphite cube of fabric and laying it on the counter next to the sink, putting that one last toothbrush he had left from the multipack he bought some time ago on top of it, already knowing that Harry had a hard time going to sleep without brushing his teeth and was not above using Louis’ brush if desperate enough.

With this very modest bundle left for Harry to use, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded out of the bathroom, leaving a wet trail after himself. His eyes immediately fell on the silhouette above the kitchen sink, standing slightly slouched, devouring a crusty slice of leftover pizza, making sure the crumbs fall into the sink he emptied while Louis was showering. At least now he knew why the water kept changing in the shower.

“Could you possibly get any hotter than that?” Louis scoffed, leaning on the wall, arms crossed on his chest.

Harry's lips stretched in a closed-mouthed smile, his palms slapped together to get the crumbs off his fingers, and he turned on his heel to face Louis. Still smiling, his fingers travelled to his collar, unbuttoning the first button with insufferable tardiness, although his first button was more like third or fourth from the top. His cheeks still puffed up with pizza as he slowly started crossing the distance between the two of them, languor visible both in his moves and the strain he had to go through to lift his eyelids back up after each blink. 

Pushing himself off the wall, giving his body some momentum, Louis closed the distance between him and Harry, too impatient to put up with Styles’ bullshit teasing. When they’ve met halfway, he grabbed the flaps of Harry’s silk shirt and opened it up, looking up at the brunette with some serious thirst in his eyes. “Oh yes, I was so wrong.” He scoffed, climbing on his tippy toes, pecking Harry’s pizza-filled, pursed mouth. Just as he fell back on his feet, his nose grazing the trail from Styles’ ear to the patch of hair on his chest, the clumsy knot on his towel gave up, the fabric pooling around his feet.

Harry eased his thigh in between Louis’ legs, soft cotton of his pants brushing against the exposed shaft, hanging heavy between the two of them, stiffened, not yet exactly hard but getting there already, propelled by the pot that never failed to make the writer horny. “Oops.” The boy shuddered a breath when Lou’s opened mouth closed around his nipple, fingers suddenly much less agile, struggling with getting through the buttons now that he was distracted with lips and fingers wandering all over his torso, pulling the shirt out of his pants, Louis very eager to get the clothes in the place he liked them the most, on the floor.

"What's that smell?" Tomlinson asked, his face nuzzled against Harry's neck, feeling every swell of the pulse point on his lips. 

With his thoughts clouded with exhaustion, Styles took a hot minute to realize what his partner was on about. “Oh, I got this cologne in mail and…” Struggling to open his eyes, he took a glance at Louis’ face, now that the man took a step back and worked through the last few buttons. “I’m going to toss it as soon as I’m back home.” His straight teeth shone in a grin once he recognized Lou’s disapproval of the new fragrance.

“It’s fine…” The writer muttered against the brunette’s skin. “It’s just not… you.” The complaint met with a smirk, Harry pulling Lou’s wrists up once he felt his friend getting to the task of undoing his pants.

Pressing trapped hands to Lou's chest, Harry waited for the frown to vanish off his friend's face, the groove in between his eyebrows deepening even further once his leg retracted from between his friend's thighs, the friction very much missed from the second Louis was robbed of it. "I need a shower." He explained his restraint, the roll of blue eyes looking at him, making it obvious what Louis thought of that idea. "This is a matter of utmost urgency. Go to bed, you're tired." 

“And if I don’t?” Lou’s eyebrow cocked up in question, wrists struggling to get out of the grip. “Is daddy gonna spank me?”

Chuckling for what it felt like forever, some of it settled in a mist on Lou’s auricle as the boy leaned down, nibbling on the earlobe for a second or two. “Yikes.” Harry laughed, letting go of his friend’s wrists and stepping aside. “Bed, now.” He ordered with the most authority he could fit into his voice, and there it was, a quick swat of Lou's left cheek that sent him flying where he was told to go.

As anybody could probably imagine, waiting for Harry to get back was one of the most tedious challenges Louis had to face in… forever, at least that's how it seemed to him at the moment. Twisting and turning in his bed like a hyperactive child, he waited not-so-patiently for Styles, who seemed to be taking hours in the bathroom, although, in reality, his own shower totalled quite a few minutes more than his guest's did. 

Feeling like he couldn’t have been possibly any more exposed, with his legs slightly parted, feet pressed flat to the mattress, he was tapping away on his phone, catching up with whatever there was to catch up with, which was… well, absolutely nothing of value to him, a person who stopped paying attention to politics quite a while ago. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he moved to his e-mail inbox and deleted a few ads, having a glance at the quarterly stats his publisher always sent him. Still moderately successful, with quite an influx in sales that he wasn’t going to lie to himself and claim that he didn’t have Harry to thank for, he tossed the phone onto the end table, pressing his thighs together once he heard the bathroom door close, sighing with relief when Harry crossed the threshold of his bedroom.

Only a bottle of water in his hand, Harry approached 'his' side of the bed, though there wasn't really talk of 'sides', now that Louis was sprawled pretty much in the middle, refusing to scoot over so his friend could lay for the night. For obvious reasons, he didn't want him to do that just yet. 

Smirking at this unexpected resistance, Harry unapologetically slid his arms under Lou’s silhouette and just moved him like he hasn’t weighed any more than a rag doll. “This is the best place I’ve ever stayed in. Fuck chocolates on pillows, this is where it’s at.” Harry murmured against Lou’s lips, rounded in surprise at the stimulation he hasn't expected. "What is this, what did you do?" His lips stayed bent until they weren't anymore, and his expression turned straight-up confused. "What are you… oh my god, you have not…” This time it was Harry’s mouth that rounded in shock, leaving him looking like a fish out of water for a second. He was positive that he has connected the dots, the expression on Lou’s face far too familiar to mistake it with anything else.

Amused with his pal’s eagerness and very much turned on by what he thought was happening in between the man’s legs, he knelt just there, placing his big palms on the insides of Lou’s thighs, spreading them open to fully confirm his suspicion. “Have you always had that?”

Disbelief painted in his expression as he skipped from Lou’s face to the dark object sticking out from the man’s bum, feeling his cock swell at the sheer obscenity of the sight. Louis, blushed and tipsy, laying with his legs spread open, sighing with every shift of the toy inside of him.

“It was a gag gift from Andy and Johnny when my second book came out.” He shrugged, shuddering a breath once he pulled himself up on the pillows. “Guess who’s laughing now.” Eyelids falling closed when the nub of the toy pressed into his prostate, the blue revealed after they’ve opened again transformed, dreamy and very much needy. “I thought I would take this chore off your hands since we’re both quite tired, yeah?” A playful smile bent his lips, hand reaching for Harry’s, the boy without any complaint giving him exactly what he wanted, in no shape to deny his partner anything, not when he was laying there so… ugh.

Complying to unsaid request, he leaned down and pressed a small peck to Lou’s navel, the exact place where his sunkissed skin became pasty again, the harsh tan line where the waistband of his shorts would usually sit. Supported on his arm only, the other one quite busy, fingers sucked in a very unambiguous way, he kissed up his partner's chest, having a pit stop at each of the nipples, bruising up one of the collarbones ever so slightly. Sucking a patch of skin in the crook of the writer's neck, he let himself get a bit overeager and jerked his hips a bit where his cock was touching Lou's skin, seeking much-needed friction. "Is it bad that I wouldn't mind just watching you play with yourself instead?" The airiest of chuckles Harry was able to produce moistened Lou's ear, the boy still barely taking his lips off the skin that slowly but surely, started perspiring from excitement. 

“It’s too bad that none of that is going to happen.” Lacing his palm in dark brunette hair, Louis pulled the boy so he could reach his lips, wasting no time before he kissed him, eagerness very evident in the way he started dominating from the get-go, tongue-heavy, sloppy mess bringing another layer of arousal to his already horny state. “I want you to… No, not want.” His head shook frantically, noses bumping against each other. “I _need_ you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

“Oh my god.” A whisper clashed with Lou’s lips, the second kiss initiated by the younger one, a bit less submissive than the previous one. “I sort of thought we could call it a night, it’s been such a long day.” The thrust of his hips against Lou’s cock was a clear contradiction of his words. “Maybe you will have to use your toy after all?” The soft hum almost got lost in the inch of space between their lips, the distance fully closed off a second later.

Knowing Harry's body and all the things that got him going like the back of his hand, he moved one of the said hands down and managed to catch the boy's already hard cock, the tight squeeze fully trashed that unwilling act as the boy's moan got muffled by Lou's lips. "There's no way I'm fucking myself with silicone dick two nights in a row. No, sir." He bit into his lover's lip, tugging on the swollen, bottom one for a bit, still slowly, almost flippantly stroking the boy’s full length.

“Two nights in… oh, I should’ve stayed last night.” Harry’s lips opened around Louis', another uncoordinated, wet kiss brought them together. “Not today, okay, but I need to see you do that, yeah?” His barely audible request met with Louis’ chuckle. “Can I… touch?” The uncertainty in his voice pulled a scoff from the writer, his hand letting go of the boy’s fully hardened length, silently permitting him to explore the butt plug he apparently found extremely interesting.

Assuming that the thing would be around, Louis obviously using it mere minutes ago, Harry looked around the mattress, both end tables swept with his gaze and nothing found. Shooting an inquisitive look at his partner, laying on the bed all flushed and impatient, he questioned the whereabouts of the lube, Tomlinson needing no words to understand the question. “In the drawer.” The constant state of bliss was interrupted only for a second as he nodded in the direction of ‘his’ bedside table, the other one full of paperwork that wasn’t perhaps the best thing to put in a nightstand but oh well, his apartment hasn’t necessarily had the most storage space out there.

Still on his knees, Harry got to the drawer and pulled it open, breath hitching just slightly, Louis already aware what it was that got such a reaction even without seeing as little as his face. “There’s more?” Without a trace of abashment, the boy pulled out the black dildo, its colour explicitly stating that the thing was targeted at real, alpha males who weren’t a stranger to taking a cock up their ass and started scrutinizing the toy, his borderline shocked eyes landing on Louis’ amused face.

“Don’t judge me, I’m a single man with overblown libido.” He defended his honour, not much of it left where he was squirming like a bitch in heat, eyes falling closed with every vibration of the plug he still had pushed against his prostate.

“Not judging it’s just…” Styles wiggled the toy a bit, smirking just a second before he placed it where his own cock was, comparing the size. “It’s not very life-like, I wouldn’t like you to do this…” He bent the thing almost in half. “To me.” Louis only laughed, Harry’s child-like curiosity amusing the shit out of him, even to the point where the suspense wasn’t nearly as unbearable as it was before.

"I'll consider if you get to it." With that cue, the brunette tossed the toy back into the drawer, bringing the bottle of lube in between his friend's opened legs. 

“You’ve bought that one for yourself?” Louis would get annoyed that the boy was more interested in the toys than with what was happening right in front of him if it wasn’t quite funny to him.

“Yes, I have.”

With a furrow of his eyebrows, he let his hand fall on his friend's thigh, grazing his fingers up to his dewy groin, pressing a thumb to that one place on Lou's perineum where he knew his partner would feel it on his prostate. He succeeded, a shuddered breath confirmation that he did. "You just go to the sex shop, pick a size, and that's it?" The nosiness continued, although nowhere near as unbearable now that the boy was making up for the questions with his fingers. 

"There are different materials and such, but yeah, it's pretty straight-forward." He bit into his lip, the room spinning again, for a whole different reason now. "Of course, if you're not an international pop star whose visit in one of those shops would result in a publicity scandal." 

“Yeah, that.” Harry’s chuckle brushed the base of his friend’s cock as he leaned, pecking the older man’s groin all-over before he slipped the already leaking tip in his mouth, swivelling his tongue around the head before he pushed it deeper.

A conflicted grunt broke the silence once the tip hit the back of the brunette’s throat. “I don’t think I can take it, please just wreck me. I need you.” Contradicting his words, his hips jerked forward, pushing deeper into Styles’ throat, the boy pulling out, spluttering a bit before he composed himself.

Not needed to be asked twice, the singer reached for the base of the plug and slowly, with quite a load of trepidation, not really knowing how to act around one of… those, pulled it out, Louis huffing a breath at the loss of intrusion, his muscles twitching around nothing at all, ready to accommodate Harry’s much bigger cock.

Making sure everything is well-slicked with the lube, rather go overboard than not put enough, the brunette positioned himself in between Lou’s legs, the vibrating toy tickling one of the calves he had pressed flat to the mattress, hands on either side of Lou’s neck. He wasn’t prepared for how easy his tip broke the almost non-existent barrier, giving the muscles something to wrap around before he was ready to push in. “Oh, Jesus.” He whispered, his lips brushing Louis’ rounded ones, a deep breath flaring the bottom’s nostrils as his partner slowly thrust his hips forward, bottoming out before he went into his head and reminded himself of the smaller size of his partner’s sex toy. “Is it too much?” With a deep groove in between his eyebrows, he kissed away the frown on Tomlinson’s face, the expression easing once the man got used to the stretch inside of him.

“No, no… it’s perfect.” Louis’ whisper was barely more than a brush of air on Harry’s neck, the man overwhelmed by the sensation he was well used to, somehow very much different now. Everything intensified, borderline too much for him to wrap his mind around. Combination of the taste of Styles' lips, the scent of his personal musk, the gentlest touch of his fingertips on his jawline and that glorious feeling inside, caused by Harry's cock stuck inside of him, slowly drawing back, just to thrust back in, pressing firmly on the swollen nub inside of him, far too much for his brain to handle, making him feel like he was high again, but the high was so different than anything else he has ever felt. He wanted more, needed more, feeling like this was the only force keeping him alive.

Overpowered senses kept his tongue hostage, the writer impotent to say anything to even remotely describe what it was that he felt, his mind racing, registering everything in the speed very unlike him, every change of Harry’s expression, every flex of his muscles, every breath counted and catalogued. The exact shade of green of his eyes with gold veins running throughout, painted the theoretical room his thoughts were stored in, all of that kept in the special part of his brain he had designated for Harry. A substantial chunk of his memory dedicated solely to the boy like some Harry Styles museum that even despite its extensivity, felt nowhere near big enough to store everything Louis wanted to keep. 

For a reason unknown to him, suddenly the mint of his toothpaste was extremely important, the remnants of the same one in his mouth mundane and boring, so special because it was Harry who tasted of it. The sculpture of shoulder blades under his fingertips deserved to be immortalized in marble, diamond or something even more precious than that, although even Michelangelo, brought back from his grave, wouldn’t be worthy of this task, only God himself, if he ever existed, capable of creating a masterpiece that Harry Styles was, from the impeccable built of his silhouette to his personality that far outshined every physical aspect there was to that boy.

Tears started welling in his eyes and that last, petty part of him, forced his eyes closed, scared to show the internal turmoil he was going through, every drag of Harry’s cock finished with a forceful slam against his prostate. The whines he released, the same ones that guided Styles’ tempo, seemed not to even come from him, just as if his soul left his body and he was just observing the scene from above, somehow still feeling everything that the physical part of him did, tenfold as much as the other Louis felt it.

Wetness started seeping from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks when the dams collapsed, the humiliation of his behaviour not commented in by Harry who still thrust his hips, fast and earnest tempo indicative of the fact that he was just as close as Louis was. With tears escaping Tomlinson’s eyes, Harry let himself claim his partner’s lips, small airy moans of Louis’, muffled with plump lips pressed against his before Styles parted them with his tongue, whimpers getting lost in the brunette's mouth in a sloppy kiss. Overwhelmed with the emotional journey he was still deep into, Louis could only conscious enough to lazily drag his tongue against Harry’s, letting the boy dominate him physically just as he did emotionally, making him think things he wouldn’t ever accuse himself of being able to think, forcing the salty solution out of his eyes, beads of sweat mixing with his partner’s where their chests touched, heartbeats complimenting each other in a symphony that was so theirs, Louis would’ve gladly immortalized it on his skin with ink, frantic beating in their chests palpable on each other’s skin, every vibration multiplied by that something that took over Tomlinson’s thoughts every time he as little as thought about the boy above him.

“Harry, I…" His choked warning was all but necessary, those kinds of announcements redundant for a while now, the two of them fluent in each other's body language, each twitch of their muscles, shift of expression, met with an appropriate reaction. Harry's hips slammed in even harder, lewd noises of their slapping, wet skin, the only interruption to their laboured breathing, the overpowering sensation of being so close, somehow even more intimate than they ever were, even if from the literal sense of the statement that wasn't true at all, further amplifying every hit on his prostate, every drag of his leaking cock between their bellies. 

With tears still being soaked by the pillow below his head, he bit into the juncture of his partner’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, the nauseating taste of it on his tongue filling him with regret, caused solely from the fact that he never wanted to cause Harry pain if he hasn’t specifically asked for it. Focusing all of the remaining attention on the wound, kissing all around the imprint of his jaws, he squeezed his exhausted legs around Styles' hips, the boy pounding into him with the eagerness unmatching his initial weariness, the shifts of the bed frame with each thrust, most likely earning him a complaint or two from the neighbours. With loud thuds of the headboard on the wall, piled atop his serenade of whines, moans and sometimes even screams, he wouldn't be surprised if along with the grievances from the neighbours, the bitches from association sent an exorcist his way, a whole delegation from the Vatican, just for good measure.

Digging his sloppily trimmed nails into Harry’s shoulder blades, leaving crescent-shaped bruises all over his back along with the few love bites he knew he shouldn’t be leaving, his partner’s sweat salty on his lips. He settled his face in the crook of the boy’s neck, lips pressed to the wound that had his name written all over it and came with a loud groan, only partially muffled by the boy’s wet skin, his conclusion maybe even audible across the whole country, continent even, hopefully not where his mother was.

Feeling the warmth on his navel, spilt just a second or two from Louis’ trapped cock, Harry raised his torso where it was pressing his friend into the mattress. Kneeling, he took a faster pace, lining the man’s knee with his hips, slamming into the writer with inhuman force and speed, the boy spilling into his partner with just a few thrusts, holding the most intimate eye-contact Tomlinson was ever a part of, so lewd and chaste at once, wetness flashing in the green of his eyes before he blinked it away, more successful in that department than Louis was. "Oh my God." He struggled through the obstruction in his throat, pulling out from his partner, falling to his side, chests fluttering in a similarly frantic way. 

This time, miraculously enough, it was Louis who reached his hand and settled in on his partner’s chest, mimicking that gesture Harry always did after they came. The boy, knowing his own tricks the best, without question entangled his fingers with Louis’, pulling their little braid to his lips, kissing each of his lover’s knuckles with his swollen, bruised lips. “Has Jeff called you yet?”

The name of their mutual ‘friend’ was not exactly what he anticipated or desired after undisputedly the best orgasm in his life, still feeling the aftershocks rippling through his body now and then. "No, is he here?" Nevertheless, if Harry thought it was important enough to bring up, he wasn't going to blow it off. 

“Yeah, pissed me off a bit. Sorry, that’s why I’ve been so… distant with the guys and all.”

Louis almost scoffed at the ridiculousness of the apology, Harry having every reason to be reserved around three drunk gays he barely knew, one of which very uncomfortably hitting on him.

Now that he thought about it… he wasn’t sure if he wanted to save Andy’s image in Harry’s eyes, he deserved being remembered by that evening. “Marco wasn’t exactly respectful of your boundaries, was he?” He joked, knowing that when it came to boundaries, Marco was the least of Harry’s problems in Lou’s friend group.

Watching Harry distance himself from the bed, leaving the room altogether, his eyes hung on his partner’s bum for a while. He waited for his friend to get back, the boy quickly emerging from the bathroom with a hand towel Louis had hung on the rack next to his sink. Wetting the towel with the bottled water he brought earlier, gulping half of the remnants before he offered it to his lover who very gladly accepted, he cleaned both of their stomachs off Lou’s come, tossing the fabric on the floor. “Yeah, but at least I’m the best, not you.” Brunette flaunted, laying on his back, the pose clearly indicating that he was waiting for Louis to lay on his chest.

Louis spent a while observing how absolutely breathtakingly striking the brunette was, the silver light of the moon that was slowly but surely making its way off the sky, giving even more definition to the boy's perfectly sculpted body, showcasing each muscle, each mole, hair or pore of his skin, placed with utmost precision, thought out and intentional, all the things that made Harry, well… Harry. His smile wide, expression clearly exhausted but still encouraging, summoning the writer to take 'his' place, Tomlinson doing exactly what was expected of him, placing his head on his friend's right side, swinging his leg over Styles'. 

“Winning the prize of coolness from the guy who cries on every Disney movie…” The tips of his fingers tapped on the side of Styles’ ribcage. “I don’t know if you should boast about that one, better focus on your Brits, Grammy’s or whatever the fuck you’ve won or are yet to win.” Reminding himself of the damage he’s done near his partner’s neck, he let his fingers trail upwards, gently circling the wound, already enclosed under a protective barrier of congealed blood. “I’m so sorry, I… lost it. Completely." He admitted, the apology bundling the bruises, the bite, the tears… all of it, maybe even the flutter of his heart that he only recently acknowledged, knowing that his feelings, whatever they actually were (he had a good idea what they were, still too scared to name them), won’t bring anything more than complications to their pleasant arrangement.

“So hot.” The boy commented on the bite, following the trail of bruises on his neck, bumping Lou’s fingers on his way to the main piece. “So worth the damage control.” The atmosphere took a grim turn for a second before the boy sighed. “I think I’ll wear something sleeveless tomorrow… Slutty, gonna show them off, make that bastard sweat.”

“You’re a fool.” Was the only remark Louis had about his friend’s pettiness.

“For you.” Raspy murmur settled on the shorter man’s temple, lips pressed to it for a quick second. “Asked him if I could be… single, just for a bit.” Another sigh, this time heavier. “I suppose you can already guess what his answer was.”

“You know I don’t care.” Louis lied. Because really, what else he was supposed to say? He knew that Harry didn’t like the fact that he was ‘seeing’ this girl while sleeping with him, his morality suffering quite a blow from that. Saying the truth, telling him that he was very much bothered, seeing the boy whom he might have already secretly called ‘his’ in his thoughts with another woman, making his blood boil with every pap walk the two have done together, wouldn’t really help Harry’s already tortured psyche. That’s why it was kept secret from him. Better that, than making the whole thing even harder on the singer who already had too much on his plate as it was.

 _His_ … even the thought of ever having a privilege of calling Styles that felt absolutely ridiculous. Yes, Harry let him into his bed and kept him entertained but, at the end of the day, he hasn’t belonged to Louis, and never was going to. The complicated showbusiness connotations aside, even the idea of this peculiar boy ever being somebody’s possession, sounded as preposterous as if somebody claimed the moon, the stars and the sun. Only that collective bundle could’ve ever compared to the wonder the brunette was.

Slipping his fingers down Lou’s spine, Harry drew a deep breath. “But I do.” He argued, not the first time they had that conversation. “I don’t want to keep... dating you.” The word used very carefully, still wearily of the possibility of scaring the writer off. “And having people think that I’m with her.”

“It’s not like you could ever have people think that you’re dating me.” He scoffed.

“Who says?” Amused, he pinched the little bump of pudge on Lou’s hip. “What if I took you on a date, maybe somewhere where there’s a lot of people… Times Square or whatever.” The vision was only as real as Louis’ knowledge of that particular place let him to, not a lot of details he could get from the telly. But yes, ads, taxis and people were the three things he could see. “And what if I got a bit carried away and kissed you there? Just an accident.” His shoulders shrugged just slightly, any too decided movement restricted by Lou’s weight. “What a pity that would be.”

“I don’t believe you would risk it all for me. You’re full of it.”

“Now? Probably not, though I am getting a bit fed up with all of this.” The tips of his fingers tapped one of the dents in Louis’ lower back. “But knowing you… You’re very persuasive.”

Louis hasn't spoken again, not really knowing what he could say to that, the weight of the declaration heavy on his shoulders, but in a whole different way, he would’ve felt it a week ago. Thankfully, he had the guy who put all of that on his psyche just below himself to help him get a grasp on the words, the swirling in his stomach they’ve brought, and a soft hum of what was a barely recognizable manifestation of fondness that fell of Harry's lips just as the boy was falling asleep. 


	27. Chapter 27

Grunts galore, Louis’ staple morning repertoire, resounded in the bedroom when he woke up, sleep taken away from him by creaking of the springs in his mattress which relaxed once Harry slid off the bed, his attempt at being incredibly stealthy not yielding desired results. “What time is it?” He mumbled, face still pressed into the pillow, eyes closed because he knew that if he opened them, going back to sleep would be considerably more difficult.

Miracle and impeccable ability to make words out of any grunts his friend was able to produce like he had some kind of dictionary in the back of his head, made the boy chuckle for a second, his feet padding somewhere to the right of the other man, around the chest of drawers and yeah, Tomlinson's suspicion was confirmed once he heard one of the compartments being pulled open. "Six, I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Why are you awake?" His voice was filled with judgement and slight exasperation, although that was more from the fact that Harry was leaving him than from being woken up. "Get back here, Jesus." To make himself sound more serious, he rolled his face off the pillow, almost unwillingly lifting his eyelids to see the brunette shuffling through his t-shirt drawer, searching for something he could wear.

After the struggle of finding a top that would fit him, the task of getting shorts not nearly as difficult, the boy put the clothes on and approached the bed, laying on his side, propped on an elbow, eyes stuck to Lou’s puffy face. Reaching his hand to brush his friend’s hair away from his eyes, he smiled at him, something sombre in his eyes that weren’t a part of the smile. “I need to go for a run, I will be back soon, yeah?”

The promise hasn’t done a whole lot for the writer, who yet again, opened his eyes as they fell closed quite a while ago. “You don’t _need_ to go running, nobody _needs_ to.” His argument met with a grimace on Harry’s face. Turned out that he actually had to, just one of those little stunts disguised as a workout to give the media something to write about. Now that he was looking at Harry… maybe Jeff was going to give them more than he initially thought he would, deep maroon bruises conveniently avoided by the white fabric of the top Styles was wearing. “Is this a good idea?” He pointed at the tank Louis forgot he even had, one of those gym ones that barely covered anything at all.

He wasn’t sure where this concern came from, especially that the idea of Harry flaunting his bruises was an extreme turn-on just a few hours ago. Now that the layer of arousal was stripped away from him, at least partially, he wasn’t sure if the brunette should provoke his manager like that.

Harry shrugged the question off, looking like he truly couldn’t care less about what people see or not, his fingers delicately grazing his friend’s palm. “I’m not going to run in a turtleneck, am I?”

"There's a lot of fabric between a turtleneck and… this.” He took one last glimpse at his companion, the white of the cotton even further amplifying the gradient of crimson slowly turning dark plum, the marks on Harry’s skin unmistakable with anything else than what they actually were.

“It’s fine, I’ll be back as soon as they’re done, yeah?” Louis only nodded, already too exhausted being the voice of reason between their two. Saying farewell with a quick peck on already asleep host's forehead, Harry got out of the apartment, heading to his usual running spot, where he already knew people were waiting for him.

“There’s this gorgeous little restaurant on the coast of Buenos Aires, I think you’re going to love it.” The sweetest grin deformed Harry’s face as he looked up at Louis from where his head was resting on the writer’s thigh. “I think I’m getting hungry from all this talking, is it time for a brekkie by any chance? How do you reckon?”

“Not yet.” Frantic shaking of Lou’s head clearly showed how apprehensive he was to leave the bed, didn’t matter that it was their third hour of snuggling in bed since Harry came back from his… work thing. He didn't look happy when he got back, to the point where Louis hasn’t even asked about the source of that grimace he was sporting right then. Thankfully, the grumpiness faded into nothing once the boy was wrapped in a tight embrace, a content huff enough of an indication to know that it was all back to being fine. “What are the odds that you’ll drop dead if you don’t get to eat something in the next… I don’t know, twenty minutes?”

“I’d say… sixty forty that I won’t.” Almost thoughtlessly, he pressed his lips to Louis’ thigh, swollen by heavy snogging pillows leaving the tiniest spot of wetness on his skin, index finger grazing over the side of his friend’s knee. “What’s that from?” Placement of his finger clearly indicated what he was inquiring about, fingernail tickling the indentation in the back of Lou’s knee.

“Skateboarding accident.” The host threw flippantly, hoping that he’s going to sound cool or something, the details of injury far less glamourous than that.

“Hot.” Harry only commented, kicking the covers to the floor, leaving them both naked and exposed, Styles' knees pressed to the side of Lou's ribcage, skin glistening in the rays of sunlight that made it to the bedroom. “Are you packed already?” His rasp a mere mumble when he shifted, kneeling in between his friend's legs, lips stuck to the insides of the writer's thighs as he started gnawing on the skin, each little nibble soothed with his broad tongue.

Humming a bit, Louis let his friend part his legs and shook his head, looking down at Harry who lifted his gaze, the glittery green of his pupils practically shooting fondness and adoration at him, didn’t even matter that Louis was pretty sure he acquired a double chin when looked from the angle he was being looked at from. “Not yet, no.” He finally managed to push out a breathy answer, preoccupied with Harry’s nose rubbing the juncture of his thigh and groin, saliva from the kisses mixing with beads of sweat that started surfacing on his pasty skin once his body temperature spiked, the occurrence undoubtedly prompted by Harry’s unforeseen mischief.

Munching on Tomlinson’s thigh, irritated by his teeth, Harry pushed out a guttural groan, lips smiling against his partner’s skin. “You should get to it then.” Contrary to his words, he set both of his big palms on either side of Lou’s hips, pulling him down on the mattress, his warm breath brushing the base, galvanizing Louis’ cock that, up until that point, laid lazily in between his legs.

Still working on getting Lou's erection to full fruition, the brunette started pecking along the vein on the side, its distinction from the rest of the shaft already speaking volumes about the effectivity of his actions. "What is that for?" The writer asked. His question a mere whisper in the quiet room.

Dragging his tongue up the underside of his partner’s stiffened cock, Harry looked up at the man, flames of arousal shining in his eyes as he finally took Lou’s tip into his mouth, leisurely pushing more of the erection past his swollen lips, his act very unbothered, borderline bored as he started to suck on it with the same amount of blasé as he took it all in.

His act lost its believability with every next bob of his head, each one more eager, the swivelling of his tongue around the circumference more and more frantic, teary eyes looking at Louis like he was world’s eighth wonder, at least. “For being such a gorgeous, hot skateboarder.” He smiled, wiping tears off his face with the top of his hand. “I would have so many naughty dreams about you. All scraped knees snapback on your head. Mhm...” A soft chuckle ruffled the trimmed hair on Lou’s groin, the tiniest of pecks peppered all over the skin he could reach without craning his neck too much.

“Let me stop you right there.” Louis lifted his head from where it was thrown back before, Harry all but interested in his protest, rolling his eyes at his friend’s words since he wasn’t exactly capable of speaking with a cock up his throat. “I was nine years old.” The chuckle that vibrated out of the boy’s nostrils, elicited a moan from the writer whose tip conveniently enough, collided with the back of his partner’s throat, the quiver travelling from Harry’s gut up to the tips of Louis’ toes.

“But you’re an old man now, that’s how I see you in my head. It’s hot.” The boy insisted when he drew back to catch a breath, only to dive back in, his cheeks hollowed, tongue working the entire length so spectacularly, he left Louis a whining, overwhelmed mess under his touch, fingers gently kneading the balls where his mouth was working its magic over the host’s throbbing cock, precome already oozing from the slit on the very tip of the erection, indicative of the approaching climax.

With his jaw aching from the blowjob that might not have been the longest but was very thorough, the brunette let his mouth fall open, Louis quickly reading it as permission and started thrusting his hips frantically, taking advantage of the opportunity he got, already marvelling over the rasp in the brunette's voice he was going to get blessed with after abusing his throat like that, the end of that privilege quickly approaching as the shows were going to kick off soon.

"Oh, fuck." He cursed out once Harry rolled them to the side, giving him even more freedom with his movements, pretty much reading his mind at this point. He eased his hand into his partner's tangled locks, steading his head as he thrust his hips in a fast, but fixed motion, struggling not to get overeager, miraculously enough, causing his partner to choke only two or three times, silently adoring how fucked the boy's face looked, all teary and flushed red, lips swollen maroon wrapped around his cock, throat contracting with every thrust of his hips. "God, I love that gorgeous little mouth of yours." A compliment left his lips without his permission, Styles looking up at him with adoration.

Without much thought, Harry let the hand that wasn’t busy fondling Lou’s testicle travel to the back, restricting any further movement of Lou's hips, his head back to bobbing up and down the length, reactivating all of his tricks once he felt on his lips that Tomlinson was very close.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, just to make sure he doesn’t drop dead, suffocated by a cock, Harry relished in the scent he only recently recognized as his favourite one out there, Lou’s personal musk making his head spin with every inhale, increasingly more prominent with every thrust that propelled more wetness out of the man’s pores. Letting his partner direct the tempo with a hand that was still on the back of his head, Styles groaned around the shaft, the vibration along with the intricate swivelling of the tongue, bringing it all together, Louis’ fingers and toes curling on the duvet, a handful of Harry’s hair trapped in a fist once a violent shudder travelled through the writer’s body, the twitch settling in his cock, white come gushing from the tip on his partner’s tongue, all stuck out, eagerly accepting every drop that shot out at him.

“Old man still got it, yeah?” He panted, his chest rapidly moving as he fell on his back, Harry already rushing to his side, grinning at him, very much proud of his performance, rightfully so. “Where the fuck did you learn to do… that. _Fuck_." Flushed and oxygen-deprived, he reached his friend's lips, thumbing over the speckle of white that dribbled out of his cock and missed the singer's tongue, his thumb pushing between the brunette's lips, the least of his seed sucked off the tip of his finger.

His question was rather rhetoric in its nature, Louis knowing full well that most of the stuff Harry was able to do with his mouth, a whole fucking lot by now, he learned throughout their little arrangement, his technique a bit sloppy in the beginning; not bad, just clumsier. "Now that I've made my old man feel good…” He dipped his head as he was hanging above Louis’ still breathless silhouette and let their lips slide together, his tongue eager and persuasive, Tomlinson tasting himself on his lover’s tongue. “I’m going to make him some nice, nutritious breakfast.” Another kiss. “You must be famished.”

Well… he was starving, that was undeniable with how his stomach growled all throughout their little activity. Still, he wasn’t exactly sure if satisfying his appetite was worth letting Harry go. “There’s something else I’d rather munch on.” A devilish smirk bent his lips as he grazed his middle finger along the middle ground in between brunette's arse cheeks.

Harry laughed and shifted away, his reaction not indicative of great success of Louis’ plan. “Maybe later, yeah?” The boy sat on the edge of the mattress, doing a great job of ignoring how incredibly hard he got himself. “You stay here, it’s breakfast in bed kind of day.”

"Whole day in bed, maybe?" Tomlinson winked, grazing his fingers over his friend's spine, each bump palpable under his touch.

"Maybe." The boy concluded, and here he was, disappearing around the corner, the commotion in the kitchen indicative of some great culinary adventure he went on.

Unenthusiastic was the best word to describe how Louis felt about leaving, and that was exactly what he had to do. No, not even that. He was pissed off, which isn't exactly surprising when your boss calls you on Sunday and asks… no, _demands_ you to meet him for late lunch and you kind of have to say yes because otherwise, he's going to pop into your place and it's not really a viable option when there's Harry Styles on your couch, naked and very unwilling to leave, not that Louis would ever tell him to beat it, all too excited about the cuddles he was promised when he comes back, the same ones he was in the middle of when his mobile rang.

Mumbling profanity under his nose, Louis pushed the door of a restaurant he hasn't yet been to, one of like three thousand that surfaced in his neighbourhood throughout his absence, only when he met the resistance of the wood, realizing that he should've pulled it. Oh well, pushing the embarrassment to the back of his head, he tried again, the attempt far more successful, his shoes leaving marks over the flooring, the path leading to one of the tables where he immediately spotted the familiar silhouette, quite satisfied to be the one who's late for once, even more pleased with a reason why he was late.

He nodded his head at the boss who stood up to squeeze his hand, falling back down onto his seat once he realized that it was not going to happen, Louis acting incredibly preoccupied ridding himself of the hoodie that throughout his short commute had a chance to soak through with the rain. In reality, he was very much aware of the awaiting handshake, just not extremely willing to grace that son of a bitch with the smallest amount of courtesy. “What is this about?” He cut to the chase, nonchalantly slouching in the seat of a booth that was the most private option in the whole place.

Yeah, yeah, maybe he wasn’t the most cordial lad out there, but it’s not like Azoff hasn’t earned the title of pain in his arse. Hell, he wasn’t a fan of the guy from the start of their collaboration, not to mention all the things he’s learned from Harry about him.

Jeff being Jeff, hasn’t looked like he even recognized the hostility in his employee’s demeanour, even though there wasn’t a way he missed it. Yes, Louis made it quite obvious from the get-go that the two of them weren’t going be friends or anything like that, not that Azoff was searching for new companions, but even Tomlinson hasn’t expected his behaviour being nearly as impolite as it turned out to be.

"How do you like the tour so far?" Jeff's voice broke out from around the restaurant cacophony, the clinking of wine glasses, clatter of silverware, all around chatter of guests that were far more talkative than he and his companion were. Waitstaff swerving around the tables in the speed almost inhuman, as if they were trained for this ever since their birth or even more than that, their distracted expressions making those slaloms even more impressive in Lou's eyes, he could only envy those people the coordination they've possessed, the corner of his lips quivering upwards when he remembered the skateboarding accident he mentioned in a conversation with Harry earlier that day.

He shrugged his shoulders, arms crossed on his chest as he scowled, still keeping his communication with Azoff to a minimum because, honestly, he wasn't interested in this small talk, nor anything else that son of a bitch had to say to him. "It's less hectic than I thought it would be." Another flippant shrug, his eyes darting to the approaching waitress the second he saw the opportunity to escape Jeff's scrutinizing gaze.

The boss gave him the chance to order first. The undisguised dislike he had for the man opposite of him, plus that that unusual exhilaration about the idea of coming back to his old, boring flat that grew so much more thrilling with that newest addition to his living room, the couch, to be precise, made him opt for a beer, hoping that Azoff would read his clue and skip the food part of their lunch. He couldn’t have been any more wrong. Yeah, he should’ve known better than believe that his boss was going to pick up on such nuances like the fact that his employee **didn’t fucking want to be there**. Honestly, he was so used to their emailing style of contact that even the five minutes he spent at the table felt like forever.

“Do you happen to know who it is that he is sleeping with?” Jeff asked after they’ve gone through all the small talk bullshit, still not touching the real reason for the meeting, Louis could feel that. 

Taking a gulp of his beer, surprising himself with how unbothered he managed to look, he shrugged his shoulders, eyes focused on a piece of asparagus Jeffrey was nibbling on, just as if he was purposefully trying to drag out the entire meeting. “No idea.” The lie unbelievably easily sliding off his tongue, although it was never like he had a problem with being dishonest if he found that appropriate. He had to bite down the smirk that started creeping its way on his lips, the slightest twitch in his pants at the memory of Harry’s obviously fucked pretty face looking up at him, cock still stuck in his mouth. “How’d you know he’s sleeping with anyone?” He asked without much interest. 

“When have you seen him last time?” 

Louis wasn’t sure if it was delusion or he really saw a spark of interest in the dead eyes looking at him from above the burrito bowl that in reality, was just a fancy name for a salad. His bottom lip pouted as he scrambled his brain for a date when Harry and he might have been last seen together, obviously ‘half an hour ago’ not a viable answer. “When we got back from Japan… I think. When you spend so much time together, it all just becomes quite of a blur, really." His answer providing enough wiggle room, in case he was caught seeing the boy later than he claimed. 

Digging in his bowl for a piece of chicken, eyes stuck to his mobile, Jeff hummed under his nose, lifting his gaze up once he found what he was looking for. There was nothing in the shape of an answer coming, the man tapping on the screen of his phone with a hand he wasn't holding his fork with. When furrow of Louis' eyebrows told everything there was to tell about the amount of patience he had, Azoff flippantly slid the device across the table. "Look at his neck."

Even without that, he knew exactly what to look at, his frown deepening at the sight of the pictures that even being as fresh as they were, already made it on the webpage of the most prominent American tabloid. Unphased, he slid the phone back to its owner, taking another swig of his beer. “He has a girlfriend so I’d shoot in that direction.”

A deep sigh flared out Azoff’s nostrils once the answer he was provided turned out not to be satisfying enough. Leaving a beat of silence for Louis to listen in on some couple’s argument in the background, the man took another bite of his salad, only then taking a breath, getting ready to speak again. “See, Harry…” The tips of his fingers tapped on the mahogany table they were sitting at. “You probably know that about him already, he doesn’t really take this whole… commitment thing too seriously.” 

Louis’ heart rate spiked at the sound of those words, Azoff slandering his client’s good name in front of a man who knew better than anybody that every stain on this poor boy’s reputation came directly from the shit that man has been pulling backstage. For a second or two, Azoff’s voice was overpowered by the rumbling in his ears, anger spilling over him like a poison, slowly but surely seducing him with the idea of punching that stupid smirk off Jeff’s face. “How are you so certain that he has somebody on the side?” 

“Faye is in the States.” Oh, that… complicated things. The fire burning in his veins started dying out, a cold rush of something in the shape of panic, bringing his body temperature back to normal, at least more standard than previously. 

Disguising a sigh with a yawn, he let that initial jolt of anxiety fizzle out, thinking that Harry _had to_ know what he was doing. Therefore, there wasn't a reason for him to worry about it. "I'm sorry, I can't help you with that." Back to his calm state, pretty sure that Azoff hasn't noticed that momentary loss of composure, he straightened his back before he let it slump in a different direction, the shift prompted by the slight ache that settled in his side. "He doesn't really talk to me about… private stuff.” Another lie shot at the boss, this one not as far from the truth as the previous one.

See, he was dishonest again but then, in Harry’s eyes, there seemed to be two versions of Louis, bizarrely separated as if they were two different people. The dissociation, in itself, was quite unsettling but he hadn't questioned it, letting his friend have at it if this helped him. The thing was, Writer Louis stopped making appearances the second they've landed in Tokyo, maybe even a few days earlier than that, making space for Friend Louis to take over, and oh boy, he did.

Thankfully, Jeff didn’t know Friend Louis, he only knew the other one. And _yes,_ the whole division bordered insanity but as soon as he could use it to justify being dishonest with his boss, he was good.

Rubbing his hand through the dark beard covering half of his face, Jeff grunted around the bite he was still chewing on. "That's what brings us to the actual point of our meeting."

And thank fuck! Finally, the bastard was going to cut to the chase. Encouraged by the vision of approaching conclusion, he finished his beer, slapping the empty pint on the table. He only nodded his head, hoping that his companion was going to read it for what it was, pushing to continue speaking.

Miraculously enough, it worked, Jeff scratching an itch on his chin before he inhaled sharply, a sound of shattering glass emerging from behind the bar. “I’ve only recently had a chance to sit and read through the samples you’ve been sending me.” 

"What about them?" He cut the man off, his head still turned to the source of the commotion.

“I’ve told you already that I enjoy your writing style and all of that _but_ …” Of course, there was a _but_ **.** Tomlinson’s eyebrow cocked up, curious about the complaint Azoff already pretty much announced. “It just seems a bit juvenile, don’t you think?” 

“I was just trying to appeal to your target audience, a stylistic choice of sorts.” His shoulders shrugged, another shift in his position. 

“With Harry, we kind of want to appeal to… hmm, the broader public." Louis had to suppress the scoff that built up in his throat once he heard that this delusional bastard thought a sane person above the age of twenty-something, would ever pick a book like his up. "His music is topping the charts, there's really no _target audience_ for it. Why should there be for the book, yeah?”

"Any pointers? What do you think I should improve there?" He asked around a smirk, really quite curious about Jeff's ideas to improve the book. It was always interesting getting advice from people who were not even close to the field they felt they had the authority to give guidance in.

“I would say more flavour.” Louis only urged further explanation of that lacklustre statement. “More personal, raw, you know… Like MJ’s one.”

“How exactly do you expect me to write an _autobiography_ of somebody who isn't me?" This time, he couldn't stifle the scoff. "It would be easier to go more personal if he hasn't shut me down every time I even try going more intimate." The slightest prickle of guilt settled in the back of his head when he was complaining about Harry like that. Even speaking about the boy behind his back felt wrong, not to mention whining about the things that weren't exactly true.

He had no other way though, that lie the only viable explanation as to why the chapters he wrote were so bland. Of course, he fucking knew that, so far from the things he was used to writing previously. But what was he supposed to do? There was really no way he could ever implement the things he noted by the start of his journey, Harry’s deepest secrets safe with him because he really couldn’t ever betray the boy’s confidentiality like that, their relationship all too important to risk it for the sake of money.

“I’ve been talking to him about that.” Jeff pushed his empty bowl aside, taking a sip of his green juice and Louis would roll his eyes at how incredibly pretentious it was of Jeff, if only he wasn’t dealing with a bigger problem at the moment. 

"And nothing ever came out of it, has it?" His tone increasingly more pointed with every word. "All you've been saying is that you will 'take care of it'." He put the last words in air quotations. "But you're not taking care of shit, and honestly, I don't know what else you want from me because I'm doing my best right here."

“Don’t get defensive, I’m not saying that what you’ve written is bad. With some minor tweaking, it is ready to be published _, but_ I wish you would go deeper. People want juicy, Louis.” 

"You're ridiculous." Louis scoffed, straightening his back in a more threatening pose. "What do you want me to do? Expose him? You know he's a good guy, there's nothing on him." His heartbeat spiked, blood rushing to his head, rumbling in his ears. He was furious, and he knew it was visible on his face, he didn't care though.

With a pensive look on his face, no reaction to Lou’s sudden outburst, the manager finished the rest of his juice. “Good guys don’t cheat on their girlfriends, do they?” That smug smirk on his lips was begging to be punched off his face, Louis’ hands already fisted under the table. With a sharp inhale, he pushed himself off his seat and just stormed off, not giving that twat even as little as a glance, uncertain whether he would be able to control himself and not end up getting arrested.

The weight of his rage became all too heavy once he got out of the restaurant, not even bothering with putting his hoodie back on. Maybe he needed the rain to come down on him, perhaps it would help ease the anger before he comes back home and has to pretend that none of this happened because… he doesn’t have a reason to get so affected by Harry’s manager mistreating him like that, at least he shouldn’t have a reason to get so infuriated by all of this. 

But he did, he was fucking pissed off, and it was only his fault for letting himself get too close, the consequences of getting involved with Harry, slowly catching up to him, not even the fast tempo he was stomping the pavement in giving him any kind of advantage, none of the things he felt staying behind.

He was in some sort of purgatory, successfully filtering out his thoughts to the point where there was nothing left, just silence, not even the commotion from the street reaching his ears. Before he even realized, he was already back home, desperately trying to support that dam that was holding all of his thoughts suppressed. 

Harry was standing by a counter, only shorts on his hips as he chopped onions Louis didn’t know he had for something he was making. Without much thought in his mind, pushed by all of the frustration and compassion that was slowly seeping through the cracks of that metaphorical dam, Louis approached him, clasping his fingers maybe a tad too tight on the boy’s jawline once he turned in his direction, bringing him down for a kiss that out of all of the kisses they’ve had before, was the loudest. Problem was that Louis wasn’t sure if Harry could read his message just yet.

Nevertheless, he let his surprised eyes fall closed, slowly letting the air out of his nostrils as he pulled the writer in by his waist before he changed his plans and settled his friend on the edge of the island, his breath not even hitching when he picked the man up. With all the nibbling, eager sliding of their tongues together and fingers wandering around Harry’s face, the boy’s hands crossed behind his partner’s head, the risk of getting onion juice where it shouldn’t go all too real, Louis finally pulled away, thinking that he was going to drop dead if he doesn’t get a proper dose of oxygen.

With the widest grin on his face, Styles still questioned the sudden display of affection with a curious gaze, Tomlinson’s grin making an appearance, showing only the genuineness of the moment, both of them all too aware that Lou’s not nearly as generous with those smiles as Harry is.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the coolest?” The shorter one panted against his partner’s parted lips, whisper getting lost in Harry’s mouth.

“No, I think that was your friend.” His teeth grabbed Lou’s bottom lip, pulling it just slightly. “But you’re making a good case for it.”

"Oh, this is fancy." Louis grinned as he accepted a bowl of pasta Harry made for dinner. Yes, of course, tomato sauce pasta in cracked, mismatched bowls was far from fancy, but for what there was in Lou's cupboards, it was a miracle that the boy managed to throw something together. "Where did you get…” Question shone in his eyes when Styles handed him a champagne flute, bubbles popping once they rose to the surface.

“It’s Sprite.” With a chuckle, the brunette fell on the couch, slouching against the end Louis wasn’t occupying, their legs entangling together in the space between them. “I had to improvise to cheer you up.”

“That’s… even better.” His shoulders shrugged before he dug into the dish, his eagerness resulting in a wide grin on the cook’s face and scorched tongue that was far less pleasurable than the smile he got but, in the grand scheme of things, making pros and cons list of the outcome, it was worth it, especially with the possibility of his friend kissing the boo-boo better. “You’re a magician.” He complimented before Harry even had a chance to taste his own creation, far more cautious about the temperature than the writer.

A furrow in Harry's eyebrows indicated that something was busying his thoughts, the silence heavy in between them despite the telly being on, Mary Berry critiquing some trainwreck of a Victoria Sponge, only that much Louis had a chance to observe in his peripheral vision. "Saw her once in Selfridges." The nod in TV's direction an obvious attempt at getting Styles' mind from wherever it wandered, his expression clearly indicating that it wasn't a pleasant place. "It's still a dispute whether it was me who saw her first or Andy, but I promise it was me.” The smirk on Harry’s lips was by far the most rewarding thing in a while, the attempt proved somewhat successful.

“That’s quite a celebrity encounter.” There was barely any interest audible in the comment, the absentmindedness contradicting the theory that Tomlinson did a good job distracting the boy.

“Yeah, my biggest one so far.” The tease another attempt, Harry’s scoff enough to get his hopes up again, not much more in the term of further reaction. The two of them were getting through their fettucine with severely different degrees of graceful, Louis’ chest splattered with red dots, the man thankful that he opted out of his top.

“Oh yes, undisputedly.” Harry laughed, the reaction artificial, so different from the laughs Louis got used to. “Can I ask what did Jeff want?”

And there it was, the reason for the sudden change of mood. Though Louis could only blame himself for that, doing a miserable job of concealing his leftover exasperation, Harry picking up on it immediately, just like he always used to.

What was there to say? 'Your evil manager is mad at me because I refuse to exploit you so the two of us can make more money', doesn't really pose a viable option, does it? It should, he should've already said that. _Fuck_ , he should’ve told Harry that weeks ago. If by the start of their professional collaboration he could justify not filling his friend on the details of his deal with Jeff, their relationship strictly professional with no foreshadowing of that ever changing, now he really couldn’t.

But now… it was too late to confess, no matter how many times he was on the verge of doing exactly that, the weight of the lie too heavy on his shoulders. What was even worse, the guilt only grew with every day he got closer to Harry, and lately, they've been doing that quite rapidly. It was hard to live like that, keeping a secret this big from the boy who deserved to know all of the sketchy stuff his manager was pulling behind his back but if earlier it wasn't really his business, now it was too late to come clean without risk of losing Harry's trust, and he just couldn't simply jeopardize that. Yes, he knew how idiotic it was to lie to the boy in fear of losing his trust, that's what made this situation even more fucked up. He only had a few more months to carry the load of this lie on his shoulders, he could manage.

“Just talked about the book.” His shoulders shrugged, forcing a dismissive demeanour onto himself when, in reality, he was far from unbothered. “Told me it was shit.” This one might have been a slight exaggeration, maybe not that slight even. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at the revelation. “And then he asked me who you are sleeping with.”

He waited for some kind of reaction to the last part of his brief report, but there was nothing further deforming the boy's face apart from the furrow that settled in his eyebrows previously. "Why doesn't he like the book?" He pushed his empty bowl onto the coffee table, clumsily shifting his long limbs until his head rested on Louis' thigh, Lou’s folded legs he was laying, on couldn't have been comfortable, but he didn't seem to mind.

Putting all of the acting skill he managed to gather from his brief experience in a school play, back in the day, he prepared a quick impression of the boss, hopefully, good enough, though he had hardly enough interactions with the guy to trust in his accuracy. "Not personal enough." The venom that snuck into his voice kind of blew the impression, ending up with him sounding nothing like Azoff. "At this point, I might as well drop your knob size, add that you're into nipple play and it's still not going to be enough." Frustration was clear in his complaining, only the softness of Harry's hair under the fingertips that wandered down without him realizing, easing the feeling ever so slightly. OKAY, maybe Jeff hasn't said that he was _shit,_ but while Louis wasn’t a perfectionist in any other areas of life, he took his job seriously enough not to settle for anything less than perfect. But then, if ‘good enough’ is his only alternative against selling out secrets Harry trusted him with, he didn’t have any option but to take it and run with it.

“They already know I like biting.” Styles’ chuckle got muffled by the skin on Louis’ thigh, the same one the boy started gnawing on just then, fingers tickling the back of Tomlinson’s knee. “You think we should go deeper?” Thumbing circles on the side of Lou’s knee, Harry looked up, his expression clearly stating aversion towards his own idea, although that was definitely more his eagerness to ease his friend’s struggles than willingness to include more, personal details in the book he never was a fan of.

Tomlinson tucked his bottom lip under his teeth, nibbling on it, fully aware that he's going to regret doing that later, already hearing Harry giving him proper bollocking once he feels how chapped his lips are but whatever, he had his reasons. "No, absolutely not." His tone was of a man who had no time for any objections. That's because it was exactly who he was at the moment. He let his gaze fall to Harry's face, his own expression far more tortured than the boy's. "I'm going to figure it out, it's fine." An unconvinced smile hardly reassured the brunette, his eyes a bit worried. "And if not, let the bastard sack me, can't see how this would be a bad thing." That… wasn't exactly true.

He could see several reasons why this would be a bad thing. First of all, he wasn't sure of financial consequences he would have to face if the project fell through, he was sure he would find the answer if he went through the documents he had somewhere in the depths of his adult drawer, but as of now, he hasn't done that just yet. Then, there was the aspect of letting go of the dream of not having to worry about money, the estimates he got very promising, far exceeding the money he managed to make from all of his previous books combined. Most and foremost, and he would never expect himself calling it the most important matter just a few weeks ago, he really wasn't ready to let Harry go just yet, especially now that this boy started to force himself into that part of him, he thought was faulty, unfunctional. Of course, he knew that once December comes, bearing the end of their collaboration, his brief fling with the singer was going to come to an end, the time they got together already more than he ever deserved because let's be real, he felt like some kind of teen novel character, all too ordinary to even stand a chance with somebody like that boy.

Not even Mary Berry was reaching his ears, lost in the tranquillity of their moment with all the adoring looks, gentle touches and coy smirks they were shooting at each other. “Whatever happens, the PA job is still yours if you want it.” Harry kissed the thigh where he could reach it with his lips. “You’d get me out of bed, go to lunches with me, take my calls, get through my mail...”

“I’m the last person to trust with getting you out of bed.” Louis scoffed, interrupting his friend mid listing the responsibilities that came with the job he just made up, taking the offer perhaps a tad too seriously since he already had a personal assistant, although the new position far more _personal_ than the other one.

"No, look how good we are." The singer protested, throwing his legs over the back of the tan couch, Louis' body shifting with his, getting them in a position that wouldn't result in permanent damage to their spines. He wasn't sure of the logic that made Harry believe that them spending the entire afternoon on a couch was any better than staying in bed, but hey, he was going to act like it's a viable argument. 

With Harry's head resting somewhere around his crotch, his fingers buried in the boy's hair, pulling the shiny locks ever so slightly, they were gazing at each other, the green pair of eyes rolled so far up, it must've caused at least some discomfort. The telly snapped off amid their post-dinner cuddle, neither interested enough to reach for the remote and click the button when prompted to do so. Now it was only them and the filtered bustle from the street, constant soundtrack to Lou's life. If he focused enough, he could just about make out the murmur of his washing machine, the last batch of laundry spinning, so he has something to pack for the rest of the tour.

He hasn’t focused on that though, only on Harry and his sleepy gaze, wandering fingers tickling the sides of his legs, the two of them touching each other in the purest way, striving for closeness, both too aware of incoming separation since neither Harry could stay over a second night, nor Louis could leave his apartment for that one, still having quite a to-do list to tackle before Marco was to move in for the time it takes him to find a new place.

“When all of this is over…” A shiver shook Louis’ silhouette when Harry’s whisper brushed his ear, the couch miraculously enough surface for the two of them to spoon on it. Louis' silhouette practically moulded against Harry's, neither able to feel when his body ended, and the friend's started, just as if they fused together into a collective unit. Louis didn't know if he hated that idea as much as he should have. "And by this _,_ I mean the tour.” Tips of Styles’ fingers were dragging down his partner’s side, leaning his head down, sucking on a speckle of tomato sauce that somehow ended up on the side of Lou’s neck, the redness of tomato replaced with crimson of a mark he left there, returning the dubious favour he was yet to explain himself for, though he couldn’t complain, loving how lost in lust the writer got, fully abandoning all the rules they’ve set without discussing them at all. “I’m going to steal you and run away… private island, full _Cast Away_ but all-inclusive." His chuckle shook both of their bodies, a wide smirk pressed against Louis' neck, little pecks peppered over the skin. "Nobody is going to know where we are."

And even if Louis knew that him going MIA was not a viable option, already contemplating moving back to his mum’s once he’s done with the tour… something made him incredibly fuzzy inside because it was the first time they've ever addressed the future, the first time they've appeared together after December, and up until that, this wasn't exactly obvious whether they were going to last longer than that. Now, having Harry making actual plans, no matter how ridiculous, took some of the weight of that question off his shoulders.

"I need to get myself some new trunks then." His voice was groggy from behind the arm he pressed to his face, covering half of his mouth, rendering his words barely audible for somebody not as skilled with all the renditions of his articulation as Harry was, even his thick accent barely problematic anymore where it posed a serious obstacle in their communication by the start of their collaboration.

“You won’t be needing any.” A tiny nibble on the very edge of Lou’s auricle sent a jolt of electricity down the shorter one’s spine, all the way to his toes.

Needless to say that neither was really focusing on the film Harry insisted they just _had to_ watch, something Polish that was apparently all the rave in Hollywood, though Louis couldn’t say he heard about that one, not that enthusiastic about foreign cinema, especially when translations were as botched as in that one, the only thing he noticed before he stopped pretending that the séance was anything more than means to postpone inevitable parting.

Harry’s soft breathing and the steady beating of his heart, practically palpable on Lou’s shoulder blade, made a great, though unexpected job of lulling the host to sleep, the man falling in and out of his nap with every gentle caress of Harry’s fingertips which only showed that the boy struggled less to stay awake, although there was a lone snore that broke the illusion from time to time.

Next time Louis' eyes opened, they were engulfed in complete darkness, only the orange of streetlights making it to the flat, any variation coming from the cars passing the street. A glance at the microwave and the lack of LED clock that shone bright blue at all times, the only confirmation he needed to know that the power went out and if that was the least opportune moment he could imagine, it also wasn't the first time that happened, he would bet it wasn't the last either.

“When did that happen?” He asked, voice wobbly as he was still around seventy percent asleep, turning onto his back, giving the clammy skin between them chance to breathe.

He could just barely make out Harry’s face in the darkness, orange tinge to his skin. “I lost track of time.” His eyes crinkled in a grin that subsided only when his lips were pressed against Louis’, the kiss lazily reciprocated by the writer in the most blissful state he ever remembered being in.

Not feeling like he’s committed enough to get up like a normal person, he started sliding himself off the couch, Harry’s hand keeping him on the furniture without putting much effort into holding the man in place. “I have ice cream in the freezer, I have to fix it.” He whined, as unwilling to leave as his friend was to let him go, if not more. No, definitely more.

“Maybe I’ll go?”

"It would take more time to explain it than to go and do it myself." With that argument, he was let go, already adding a mental note to do a little tutorial for Marco, in case that ever happens while he's alone, making one on top of that to finally call the provider to do something about that damn box that kept malfunctioning for no apparent reason ever since he bought the place, his title of master of procrastination the most evident in that particular debacle.

Yeah, fixing the issue wasn’t exactly the hardest thing in the world, the actual act of getting out of the apartment more of a hassle than going down to the basement, where the boxes were situated and flipping the switch to get it back on. As far as he knew, it was only him who had that issue, none of the neighbours he knew reporting similar things. So… yeah, he really should call somebody about it before his flat burns down or whatever.

He settled on shorts and flip flops as his attire for the grown-up task he had to tackle, having literally no fucks to give about what his neighbours were going to think when he, inevitably, bumps into somebody on his way down to the basement. The dread about going down to the dungeon of trolls and spiders, for which he fully blamed people who refused to clean their basement spaces, keeping shit they haven’t used in fifty years, _and_ the eagerness to get back to Harry, made him almost fly out of the apartment, nearly breaking his neck twice on the way down the stairs when his flip-flops folded under themselves, fully disregarding the existence of a lift that would take more time than risking his life on the staircase.

Completing the actual task, after he finally got to the boxes, miraculously avoiding getting tangled in any spiderwebs, took him a whole thirty seconds, most of the time getting into the actual box and closing it. Having that part done with, he headed for the lift, climbing the Everest of four flights of stairs far too much for his body that still hasn't fully snapped out of sleep, ready to go back into dreamland the second he's back on the couch, the preparations for accepting a new tenant pushed back in time, late-night cleaning seemed like a fair price to pay for some more cuddles, of course, if Harry's up for it as well, though Louis could hardly see the boy opposing.

He stood in front of his door, letting his breathing come back to normal, perhaps a tad embarrassed about how out of breath he still was, slapping the flip flop against the sole of his foot just to have something to do while he tried to space out his breaths a bit, though his lack of stamina wasn’t exactly a mystery for Harry, having at least seventy thousand occasions to watch Louis’ struggles to judge for himself.

Deeming his breathing at least acceptable, the decision maybe just a bit rushed by a neighbour he could hear making her way down the corridor, the clicking of her heels increasingly louder with every step she took towards him, he pushed the door and found himself inside of his flat, disoriented by the change of scenery, fully prepared to see a lit-up version of what he walked out on.

He couldn't have been more wrong, though. From where he left Harry on the couch, he was nowhere to be found, only rustling in the bedroom giving away he was still there. Furrowing his eyebrows at the commotion, he crossed his way there, finding the boy by his bed, hastily pulling pants onto his legs. "You're leaving?" His attitude towards abrupt parting was fully presented in his disappointed tone. Yeah, it wasn't the first time Harry had to leave like that, summoned by whatever superstar business his management set up for him, but no matter how many times he had to let him go like that, it never got any easier. To the contrary, each time he found himself struggling more than the last one.

Harry hasn't even turned his way, by the movement of the hair atop his head, Louis could only assume he was shaking his head, the gesture that obviously wasn't an answer to the question that still hung in the air between them. With unheard-of urgency, the boy was working on buckling the belt around his hips, somewhat clumsily from what Louis heard, his behaviour so bizarre when compared to the cuddly bear he was just a few minutes ago.

Louis was scrambling his head for a reason, that would justify the sudden change but with every second that passed, the question mark in his head was getting bigger and bigger, his desperation only progressing as the time before Harry leaves was running out, he sure as fuck didn't want to be left oblivious to the cause of all of… this.

Subconsciously, he stepped to the side, completely blocking the way out of his bedroom, knowing that he stood no chance against the boy if he was determined enough, only hoping that Harry wasn’t going to resort to manhandling him out of his way. He stood there, the shift in the atmosphere sending an icy shiver down his spine but he wasn’t going to budge, arms crossed on his chest, demanding answers with his pose as he observed his friend getting the rest of his clothes on, scrambling the nightstand for the rings he simply tossed into a pocket instead of putting them where they belonged. “What is that? What happened?” His inquiry bounced off of the singer like he wasn’t even there, the question might as well have been directed at a brick wall.

And if he was already worried, concern snowballing with every second he was left oblivious to the source of Harry’s odd behaviour, his breathing might have stopped when the boy finally turned to the door, his eyes fully omitting Louis’ silhouette, plastered somewhere in the distance. This time it was Louis who might as well have not even been there. The bleak expression on his face was so foreign, the lack of eye-contact they’ve usually instigated on an instant like it was the unconditional reflex they both possessed only in relation with each other, only further driving him crazy.

Even aware of the obstacle on his way, his eyes emptier than Louis has ever seen them, Harry started crossing the bedroom, a few strides and he was already in front of his companion, eyes still fixed on something that Tomlinson could only assume was the main door. Only then, when he let himself take a gander behind himself, it hit him, a sound he would've never expected to hear in the barely intrusive hubbub of the street. His own voice, like a punch to his gut, provided the answers to all the questions that sparked about Harry's confusing behaviour. A muffled sound of a conversation he remembered vividly, still going on in the background, every word decreasing the chances of getting out of the shithole he dug for himself, if he had any chances, to begin with.

Suddenly, it all became clear, and he started… falling. The floor disappeared from beneath his feet, but he never seemed to hit the ground, the anticipation of the impact only made it worse, rendering his brain useless once he started searching for ways to make it better, for _anything_ that would convince Harry that he never… “Harry, I…" There it was, all he could bring himself to voice, pleading in his words that were barely words as they were, making him sound pathetic and he was fully aware of that.

Paying no mind to how he sounded, the stakes too high to let something as stupid deteriorate him from his objective that at the moment, was giving Harry reasons why he shouldn’t hate him, he pushed the tears that started welling in his eyes away, knowing full well that once they break out, he’s done with speaking.

Harry only scoffed, his reaction devoid of any emotion. Louis wasn’t sure how he felt about Styles’ demeanour. He stood taller than ever, chest pushed forward. Slow, shallow breaths brushing Louis’ nose as they stood there, inches apart, the boy’s act intimidating almost to the point of making him step aside, letting him go. _Almost_ was the keyword. There was something unsettling in the composure he was witnessing, such a contrast to the absolute mess he was on the other side, brunette’s poise only indicating that it wasn’t the first time he experienced something similar, the realization that it was exactly that, a memory of having that conversation, still vivid in Lou’s head, only broke his heart further, not that his pain could ever be compared to whatever it was that Harry must’ve been feeling, everything hidden behind a stoic mask he kept on with manic determination.

Fully aware that his time was running out, only so much of it left before Harry gets fed up with his bullshit and stops pretending that Louis' silhouette was some insurmountable obstacle, he clutched his small hands onto the material of the boy's top, his body meeting cold, stone-like resistance when he crashed into the singer, delusional that this was the way to his success. "Please, let me explain." The plea broke the silence between them, the most unbearable one they've ever experienced, the silence that filled the last seconds Louis had to do _something_ , still too busy falling to come up with a solution.

The point was, there was no solution, though he still tried to convince himself that there was. It was evident in the cold stare how big of a blow the discovery of Louis’ ‘mister superstar’ folder was, the one he left opened on his laptop like an idiot that he was, this quality manifesting in far more ways than that one.

And Louis couldn't think of anything but the fact they were heading for a catastrophe, and all he could do is stand there and watch them lose everything they've had. Deep down, he knew there was nothing he could do, he didn't get to change the past, the choice was not his to make, and what was even more terrifying, the choice was so obviously made already.

“Explain what?” Hearing his voice was a relief, though it really probably shouldn’t be. He sounded… dead. Louis wished him to be angry, hoped that he would punch him, curse him out, whatever but… _this._ “That you’re exactly as big of a piece of shit as Jeff is… as all of them are?” He drawled through his teeth, pulling Louis’ wrists away from himself, dropping the pretence and fully shoving the writer out of his way, taking long strides to the living room where he started searching for the rest of his stuff, gaining Louis some time.

That… hurt, though he didn't exactly have time to dwell on that. "I was just doing my job, doing exactly what he told me to do and then when I…” His voice broke in a sob, stopping him from saying anything more. He wanted to say it, it needed to be said, desperately. Seeing in that stupid word the last chance of salvaging anything from the mess he caused, the word, that damned word, so sweet in his thoughts, spilt bitter all over his tongue that stuck to the roof of his mouth, preventing him from confessing the feelings that were so obvious to him right now, way too late to make them even matter. “I never wanted that to happen…” At this point, he was saying everything that came to his head, not much of that at all. “I haven’t put any of that in the book, I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course, you didn’t want to get caught keeping that stuff for a stupid little expose you have already planned.” His head shook, another scoff breaking the silence. “Guess I only have myself to blame for believing that there was something redeeming about you.”

“There’s no expose, I… there was, but there isn't anymore, I couldn't do that to you…" Thinking that this confession would revive any positive feeling associated with him was delusional, but he was still holding to that hope up until it was obvious that he failed. "I wanted to help you…”

"Help me with what? Where have I asked you to get involved? The times I've specifically told you not to do that?!" It was almost weird how hostile he managed to sound while barely raising his voice, the derisive smirk not leaving his lips. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress you get to save, I'm an adult, I can take care of my own shit, Louis." He threw two pillows off the couch, successfully locating his phone under the second one. "Don't act like you're not a selfish asshole and weren't doing that only for yourself, we both know that it's bullshit. Go on, ruin my life, see if I care." Right at that moment… Louis wouldn’t have problems believing that he really hasn’t cared, only the awareness that this was not _real_ Harry, keeping him from doing that.

The casual cruelty was something Louis never would’ve thought the boy was capable of, spilling venom like his life depended on it. The sweetest person he ever met, now breaking him, ripping apart with every word that fell off his lips until there was nothing for him to destroy.

Louis was staring at Harry’s hands, patting his pockets to check what he has yet to find. He was too scared to look up, terrified of what he would see in his eyes, disgust was his best bet. “Harry, I never…” He choked, not that it was the reason that he never finished the sentence. There was simply no other part to that.

"Save it, can't you see that none of that matters anymore? You're worse than Jeff, he never led me on, never pretended to care. How can you look at yourself in the mirror?" Tomlinson was pretty positive that if it wasn't for his impeccable manners, Harry would've spat in his face right about then, giving even more punch to the insult.

Apparently already having everything he needed, Harry started taking strides towards the door, stopping with his hand already on the handle, looking at the writer with a grimace like the sheer sight of that man sickened him, Louis only staring back. More than anything, he desperately needed to know where Harry’s head is and if he’s going to have somebody to comfort him after he leaves, clenching throat preventing him from saying a word. “Good luck with the book, hope the money will reward prostituting yourself to get material.”

And there… he left, slamming the door with force so great, the whole room vibrated, though that could've been Louis' legs. No, those were definitely his legs, failing to support his weight as soon as he was left alone, the room spinning around him, colours blurring together into streaks as he fell to the floor, a gut-wrenching sob breaking the painful silence. A distant sound of an ambulance siren he tried to focus on, made him feel like he could've used one of those, feeling like his body was slowly shutting down as he sat on the floor, his whole body shaking as he sobbed, embarrassing himself in front of nobody but himself, fully aware that even if Harry had a chance to witness at least a bit of his humiliation, he couldn't have possibly thought worse about him that he already had.

He wasn’t aware how much time he spent on the floor, his body eventually collapsing, curling up on the edge of the rug, refusing his orders to move but somewhere along the way, the recording Harry put on ended, and then he spent even more time just lying there, feeling the hole in his heart widening its territory until there was nothing left to claim.


	28. Chapter 28

Up until now, Louis never would’ve said anything bad about his mother’s parenting. The one matter she overlooked or maybe intentionally neglected, revealing itself only when her son approached thirty, a life lesson he could've fucking used at the moment. 

They never really tell you how it is to lose somebody you have feelings for. All the books he read, songs he heard or movies he watched, focused on the good parts of falling in love, tempting you with the butterflies, the tender moments and altogether bliss, purposefully omitting the part when everything goes to shit sooner or later. In his case, it was too soon, way sooner than he expected it to.

He couldn’t exactly blame his mother for failing to prepare him for whatever the fuck was happening to him. After all, he never had his heart broken as a kid, never requiring ‘the talk’ about all things relationships, although his mum’s animosity towards that particular topic, sourced directly from her crappy experiences in that particular department, might have played its part in the woman never actually even as little as nudging the topic with her son.

And now, amid his twenty-eighth revolution around the sun, he found himself in a pickle he never thought he was going to find himself in, quite fucking confused about everything that was happening to him, a lot of it even when physically, he was barely doing anything.

The first few days after Harry… removed himself from his life, that odd word formation most accurately describing the situation, he was in the dark, taking blind leaps that usually only inflicted more pain than the one he was already in. He was pissed off, blaming everybody but himself for not telling him how hard it would be to deal with the loss, his selfish side chiming in with an observation that it must’ve been even harder for him, with his first romantic experience happening at the age of almost thirty, not thirteen or however old it was that kids fall in love these days.

At times, he found himself drowning, feeling like he was prohibited from breathing like something was restricting his airflow. Maybe there was… the guilt being the most plausible explanation. And hell, he felt guilty, filled with regret about how he handled things, hating himself for doing what he’s done to Harry, no matter that they were practically strangers when the idea sparked in his head, no matter that he was pretty much hired to get those confessions for the book. 

The thing he regretted the most, more than likely the thing he was still going to beat himself over on his deathbed, was his incapability to struggle through the confession of the feelings that now that they were left unsaid, tortured him perhaps tenfold as much as they would have if he admitted them out loud. 

Ever since Harry left, Louis felt himself crumbling, panicking that he was never going to see the boy again, the chances of that being true bigger than he would like to admit. But even in that thought, fear eating away the least of his sanity, there was this strange thread of peacefulness, just as if some weight was taken off his shoulders. The awful choice he was facing only a week ago, now fully gone. He didn't have to choose between Harry and his career. 

Now, he had none of that and honestly… only when he was deprived of both opportunities at once, it became so clear to him which one was the right choice to make. 

Only now, being alone in his flat, unable to find anything to do with himself, it became so obvious that no amount of money or publicity was worth hurting the boy he grew so attached to, and if the thought of the word 'love' still ran a cold shiver down his spine, this was the only confirmation he needed to believe that this was exactly what he felt, too scared to name the feeling, terrified to solidify the fact that he just had to fall for somebody so unavailable.

The state he was in since… he was left alone, the name of the culprit still threatening to trigger him in ways he didn’t want to be triggered… Sedated, that’s how he would call it. A zombie just roaming around the world, interested in nothing at all, hating the freshly regained privilege of doing whatever he felt like doing. his cleared schedule was not taken advantage of, the man leaving the house only when it was his turn to take the bins out or to pick up a pack of smokes in the convenience store across the street.

Well, yeah… he was smoking again, the habit picked up as soon as he was left with too much time on his hands. The rest of the day of the fight, though he wasn't exactly fighting at all, he spent sitting on the balcony with his legs curled to his chest, dialling Harry’s mobile with manic obstinacy, getting through a pack of smokes he had stashed in his apartment. He came to regret the speed he was getting through the cigarettes in. After quite a break he had from the habit, it left him dizzy, nausea from cigarettes and the emotions tormenting him, triggering violent wrenching of his stomach, the last act of his ultimate humiliation that concluded his attempts at contacting Harry after he dialled his number fifty-one times, each one as unsuccessful as the first one. 

Not completely aware how the plans for the rest of the tour had changed, except one less person tagging along, he decided to take the chance that could've been the last one he had and went to Harry's house. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he rang the doorbell, his silhouette slumped over the fence as he was running on fumes after not blinking an eye that night, only to be informed that the boy was not there anymore, his whereabouts a mystery to the staff that happened to be in residence.

So… that’s how he was. Coasting, confused and strangely at peace with the information that he was not going to get to see Harry ever again, even though he physically ached for some sort of contact, at this point he would be thankful for a restraining order or anything. He was desperate okay? 

With the abundance of free time he was getting lately, he spent most of it lounging, trying not to think. Because see, he was barely thinking at the moment and even with that, he was already thinking far too much for his liking.

As of now, he was taking advantage of the fact that Marco was out, appreciating the whole width of his mattress, a privilege he regained when Harry left but quickly lost since Marco had moved in barely two days after.

They haven't exactly planned for the two of them actually _sharing_ the place but the cookie crumbled in a way Louis never would’ve seen coming, though he probably should have with the things he kept from Harry, playing with fire with every lie he was forced to tell as a consequence of the first one. Either way, he wasn’t going to send his friend off to homelessness or whatever it was that the guy would do if that plan hasn’t panned out, he wasn’t going to test it.

Marco proved to be a blessing in disguise. He was always the good boy, the sweet thing that had no bad bone in his body, and now, he was the only thing keeping Tomlinson from completely losing it. Yes, living with a roommate again, after years of not having to, was hard, especially that his place was, what he would call it, a perfect bachelor size. Sharing the flat wasn't ideal, but then, he was sure as fuck that he would've gone mad if he was left alone, trials of his insanity experienced almost on the daily, when his friend was off at work, though Louis was sleeping through the bigger parts of Marco's morning shift that he might or might have not taken solely for the sake of his friend. 

He hasn't shared his issues with any of his friends. Maybe it was shitty of him to keep that part of his life to himself, but then, there were the matters of the NDA and all that kind of stuff that, in reality, was just an excuse that let him avoid talking about Harry at all. The official story he sold to the guys to justify the fact that he hasn’t gone away, was that he was sacked by Jeff, just some old fashioned lack of consensus about the approach towards the book. 

Of course, everybody knew that he was full of shit, all too aware that Louis wouldn’t have reacted quite this harshly to this kind of news, none of them actually inquiring, maybe predicting the full-on mental breakdown that threatened to come down on Louis once he was asked about Harry. 

Even if the guys haven’t known where the sudden shift in his behaviour came from, very apparent despite his hardest efforts at concealing it, they tried to be supportive, which in their case was just being them. The biggest sacrifice taken by Andy who, after one or two questions about Styles, took the note of the tears that somehow, without his permission, started welling in Lou's eyes and stopped asking, no matter how hard it was to control himself, the change of his friend's plans and Harry's disappearance all too close together for him to believe they weren't connected. 

Because that’s precisely what Harry did. He vanished, fell off the face of the Earth. It wasn’t long before his shows started getting cancelled or postponed until further notice, more and more dates added to the list as the days went by and nobody knew where the singer was. Louis would’ve never accused him of being able to disappear like that, or maybe more of Jeff letting any of that happen. At first, he thought the manager knew where the boy was, even thinking about shoving his pride into his pocket and inquiring the man about Harry’s whereabouts but it only took some persistent harassing calls that Louis had endured the day he went to Harry’s, to convince him that they were both just as oblivious. 

Maybe it would've been easier if he knew where Harry was, perhaps he could've done something to try to better their situation, even if just a bit. Fine, he was aware that there wasn't a lot in his power that could've been done, the chances of them ever going back to what they were obviously gone but even with that, there was one thing he knew he should've said that he hasn't. Well… maybe two things. First of them, of course, confessing his feelings that now, with Harry despising him as much as Lou could only imagine he did, wasn’t something he was planning to do, God knows that this poor boy didn’t need to have his brain fucked with more than he already had. That one was to be left unsaid, his love confession unlikely to change anything between them, though he couldn’t really tell why that was so important to him when he was sure as fuck not going to see that person ever again.

What he couldn’t bear though, was the thought that Harry was somewhere out there… thinking that all they had was fake, meticulously manufactured by a guy, whose only objective was to extract as much information out of him as he could. It was a hard pill to swallow when he realized that it was most likely exactly what Harry thought of him. What was even worse, was the fact that Louis couldn’t even blame him, after all, he was the one who gave him every reason to think about him in that way, though knowing Harry, whichever insults he assigned to the memory of Louis’, were pretty likely to be milder than he deserved them to be.

Here he was… thinking about Harry again, staring at that one, particular corner on the ceiling where his hand had slipped when he was painting the wall, leaving a dark streak of colour on the sea of off-white that was white a few years ago, giving his eyes something to focus on while he was dwelling on the memories of the friend he lost, the night it all fell apart still very fresh in his memory, though he’d much rather forget the last six months of his life altogether.

That’s how Marco came in handy, a distraction of sorts, an instigator of the hangouts that grew sparser as they got busy with their lives, pretty much begging Andy and Johnny to come over once Louis’ grim mood started spilling onto him, the host’s presence sometimes unbearable to partner. 

Sometimes they would just sit together, the two of them and pretend to watch telly, Louis’ mind going on the adventures he tended to go on lately since nothing really seemed to spark any sort of interest in him. And even if he rarely let it show, he really enjoyed Marco’s companionship, even to the point where he would go with him around the studios he was interested in renting and nitpick on every minor flaw he could spot during his thorough checks, successfully dissuading the boy from all of the places they’ve seen together just for the sake of keeping him longer by his side. He wasn’t going to tell that to anybody though, embarrassed with how desperate he was to have a friend by his side, a pal that helped him so tremendously without even realizing that he was doing that, still sort of oblivious what exactly he was helping with.

“Oh God, you’re the most disgusting little slag, aren’t you?” He snarled at the sizable cubicle that now took half of the dresser he had in his living room. He came closer, his nose almost pressed to the clear acrylic as he carefully observed the pet he acquired involuntarily. 

For some reason, when agreeing for Marco to move in, he fully forgot about the fact that the man came in a bundle with a disgusting, hairy subject of Louis' worst nightmares. OKAY, as far as spiders go, the blue tarantula might have been near the top of the list of the prettier ones, but even with its vivid colouring, it was the single most repulsive thing in the flat, having him much rather lick the toilet seat than touch that little fucker that was now staring back at him with its all eight eyes. "Such a waste of perfectly good counter space. Had a picture with me mum where you're living right now. Paying no rent, mind you that." His scoff met with the tiniest twitch of Martha's front legs, the movement immediately ridding Louis of all interest in studying the damn thing. He wasn’t going to test the rigidity of the mesh atop the tank that the spider occupied.

His head shook as he went to the clothes dryer that currently was taking up half of the living room, thinking that he was losing it, talking to a fucking spider. To be honest, lately, he found himself going on extensive rants, laying his deepest secrets on Martha, who, unlike his lads, couldn't ask questions or give him unsolicited advice. There was something reassuring in knowing that you're not completely alone at all times, even the presence of the useless animal taking off some of the weight of loneliness, the help appreciated to the point where Louis started thinking whether he should get himself a pet once Marco inevitably moves out, something more pleasant than Martha, who most fucking likely would’ve sunk her teeth into his flesh the second she got the chance. A dog maybe. Yeah, a dog would be good for him, companionship but also a reason to get out of the house. 

Slipping dry clothes off the wires of the dryer, he tossed everything onto a pile on his armchair, shoving the emptied construction to the balcony where the weather conditions haven’t favoured drying anything. With a series of deep yawns, his body confused laziness for fatigue, he brought the ironing equipment from the depths of his utility closet, setting the board in front of the terrarium, still somewhat hesitant about turning his back on the predator. 

Having a heap of clothes to his side, he put Marco’s playlist of pop divas on, knowing that likelihood of it including something he would associate with Harry was low. With the music in the background, the iron already hot in his hand, he got on with the chore, something he hasn’t remembered doing in ages. Well… he remembered when was the last time he’s done that, though he’d rather not, the memory punching him in the gut as soon as it was brought back from the archives.

“Maybe you have something to iron, don’t you?” He threw at the pet who was now busy digging in the soil, extending the intricate web of tunnels it had created, renovating the ones that collapsed during the move. Another of Marco’s t-shirts was folded with utmost precision, put on one of the piles on the coffee table. 

It would’ve been better if he said that it was some simple gesture of courtesy, taking care of his friend’s laundry like that but it surely wasn’t. Just another of the unnecessary lengths he went to, just to occupy his mind, keep himself from thinking because that wasn’t good for him, nor was getting frustrated at his clumsy ironing technique but of the two evils, he’d much rather be angry at the creases than… whatever the other option was, not really sure how to name the feeling that spilt over him when he had too much time on his hands.

Tapping his foot in the rhythm of some obscure Lady Gaga track, he moved to ironing the heap of boxers he had on the end of the board, scoffing at his own desperation that pushed him to iron fucking pants. Who was he, somebody's grandma? Apparently yes. 

If he wasn't as accustomed to the sound of his ringtone, pretty sure that the sound of it would’ve raised him from his grave, he wouldn’t hear the incoming call since the music was turned up maybe a skosh too loud. He did though, answering the call without looking at the screen, regretting the decision when he heard Andrew’s cheery greeting through the phone. “ _Hi._ ” His greeting a bit cold in comparison. Maybe not _cold_ , per se, just blank, though his friends were most likely already used to that new demeanour he was adapting lately.

“ _Coming up in a bit, you’re alone? Don’t know how many beers to get.”_

Holding back an exasperated sigh, he only rolled his eyes. “ _Yeah, alone. Get me a pack of gold Marlboros while you’re at it, could you?”_ He made a request, feeling just a tad of relief for not having to go out to get cigarettes after all. 

_“A special request for the picture?”_ Andy teased, the smirk on his lips pretty much audible in his voice.

_“Fell like I can relate to the dead bloke.”_ Drew sighed, cut off before he could say something. _“The nipper with a fag as a dummy is always a good choice.”_ He struggled a laugh, far from authentic one though it was good enough that maybe his friend hasn’t noticed. With a scoff in response, he ended the call and only then noticed that he missed a text from Marco.

A cold shiver shook his body when he noticed the request his friend made. He wasn’t going to be back home that night, sleeping over at some bloke’s whom he met not that long ago. That was good. Louis felt like he could use some solitude, well, as soon as he gets rid of Andrew but with his roommate's absence, there was the favour he asked, one that was the last thing he felt like doing, shoving needles into his eyeballs more appealing than feeding the goddamned tarantula, both the crickets that served as a food and the sweet creature Martha was from afar, making his stomach clench. 

‘Fuckfuckfuck!’ He repeated the mantra in his head as he crossed his path to the kitchen, postponing the feeding of the spider and _maybe_ , just maybe, contemplating the likelihood of the tarantula dying if she was fed a day late. To be fair, probably nothing would happen, though he wasn’t very eager to test that theory, knowing that the pet was with his friend for seven years already. It really would’ve been a pity for the thing to kick the bucket because of his negligence.

Shit, he completely forgot about his morning outburst, the evidence of which still very present in pieces of ceramic shards scattered all over the kitchen. Yes, fine, maybe hurling a mug on the backsplash wasn’t exactly the most reasonable way of dealing with the problem but somehow, it felt fitting where he saw the thing in the sink once again. He knew that asking Marco to stop using that particular vessel, would’ve made him look insane, but he couldn’t help the wave of sorrow that flooded him every morning when he saw it because it was Harry’s mug, even if it really wasn’t. And while he could’ve just thrown the thing into the bin and take the rubbish out before Marco gets home, like a normal person would, shattering it felt strangely cleansing, cathartic even. Now he had to deal with the broken shards scattered all around, and he almost scoffed with how much he and the stupid mug had in common. 

Getting on his knees, he started picking up the bigger pieces, using a brush to coax the small ones onto the dustpan before Andy lets himself into his apartment, a thing that was inevitably going to happen, his friend fully omitting the intercom on his way upstairs.

Using the same brush, Louis got rid of the shards that peppered the counters, the force he used to throw the mug scattered the pieces all over the place. Well, that’s the price he had to pay for his dramatic behaviour. With a sigh, he tossed the pieces into the bin and left the cleaning supplies in the cupboard under the sink, where he usually kept them. Not having too much to do just yet, he went back to the ironing board, fully committing to getting through the full load of laundry he set as a goal for himself.

"Don't take your shoes off, I've broken a mug." He threw once the door to his flat flung open, Andy letting himself inside just as Louis predicted him to. With a shrug, the man invited himself deeper inside, having a little pit stop at the fridge where he put the beers he bought for them to indulge in. "That's a bit disappointing, innit?" His face scrunched at the possibly worst picture on the packet of cigarettes, Andy tossed onto the ironing board.

“Old hag wouldn’t let me pick. Said it’s better if I don’t like it.” The guest explained himself and turned on his heel to claim his spot on the couch. “So, you’re a proper housewife now, yeah?” Louis heard from behind his head, the last pair of Marco’s boxers concluding the pile he had to deal with.

Sighing at the teasing note in his friend’s voice, his face fully conveying how much of it he was willing to accept, Louis took the space on the armchair where the clothes were laying previously. “Everybody’s gotta do laundry once in a while.” His slumped shoulders shrugged as he reached for the bowl of pistachios that his roommate insisted was essential to the coffee table. He couldn't agree less, halves of shells scattered all around the couch were hardly on the top of the list of the most welcome transformations to his flat.

With a gust of air pushed out of his lungs, Andy closed Spotify and went back to the telly, leaving it on some trashy reality show Marco was fond of, not pretending either of them was going to actually watch whatever he puts on. “How come is Marco’s pile twice as big as yours?”

“I’m not above re-wearing an outfit.” He tried to defend himself, knowing that he’s on the losing position with the scrutinizing gaze glued to his face. “I don’t leave the house too much either.”

“I know.” Drew threw without much thought, crossing his knee with the ankle. “That’s the part of the problem, isn’t it?”

It was maybe three minutes since his friend walked into the flat and he was already over their hangout, though, to be fair, he hasn’t felt like socializing in the first place, already looking forward towards the first night alone he had in, what it felt like, ages. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re on about. _Sure,_ I have some shit on my plate with my mom being terminally ill, unemployment and that fucking monster that I have to figure out how to feed so cut me some slack. I'm not really into socializing right now, so I stay home. That happens, it doesn't mean I'm on the verge of suicide or what it is that you think you are obliged to get me out of." The stern face he adapted eliciting no reaction from Andrew who now got up, taking his freakishly long strides towards the fridge, the clinking of the beer bottles telling everything there was to tell about his endeavour.

“I swear to god, if you let it out, I’m gonna strangle you.” Louis threatened his friend when he was just getting round to opening the enclosure enough to drop the bunch of live crickets Marco had prepared in a little tub. 

Well, fine, maybe he shouldn't have been nearly as harsh towards a friend who offered his help with the dreaded task of feeding the tarantula, but he was a bit on edge as of late, he couldn't help it.

"As if you wouldn't run away with a screech if that happened." Andy scoffed and dropped the insects into the tank, covering the hole immediately not to risk it with the lively crickets. "Sure you don't want me to stay the night?" The taller man asked, his silhouette leaning on the chest of drawers as if the presence of deadly spider hasn't bothered him at all. Maybe Louis was a coward, or Andy was the ballsy one, but he couldn't imagine himself looking so nonchalant in Martha's company, he had to keep an eye on her even if just in his peripheral vision.

"Oh, sure! I get one night by myself, and I am going to invite you in, thank you very much." His voice was raised perhaps a tad too much for the late hour, the high pitch of it most likely even helping it to get through the walls, straight to his neighbour’s. “I’m not going to hang myself, I swear to god.” His eyes raised to the ceiling before they snapped back to Drew’s bored expression. “Gonna eat something from a can, watch some telly and go to sleep, naked, as I should be sleeping as an adult. A good boy, promise.” The smirk he forced onto his lips was all but genuine, he was positive that his mate called bullshit on the expression in no time.

"God, you got annoying." Perfectly sculpted fringe atop Andrew's head hasn't even twitched as he shook his head. "You got to get your end away, Harry Styles is not the only cock in London." Louis' eye might have twitched before he realized that there most likely wasn't any secret knowledge of Harry's whereabouts that his friend possessed and just threw in London as a figure of speech, just because that was the place where they both resided. Before Louis had the chance to speak again, he yelped at the slap he received on his bum from a friend who apparently felt like he could go as far. "The best cock? Eh, doubtfully." Andy walked towards the couch and threw himself onto it, legs hung over the armrest. "Top ten? Maybe, I wouldn't know, but there's a whole city of knobs, waiting for you to ride them!"

Louis rolled his eyes at the pep talk he didn’t ask for, a peculiar one at that. “Gross.” He only concluded Drew’s rant with that and moved to the kitchen, climbing onto his tippy toes to go through his collection of canned foods he, inconveniently, put on the top shelf, settling on a can of tomato soup, the only one he could reach from where he was standing. 

He grimaced fiercely at the sight of the soup when he poured it into the bowl, not too excited about the dinner he was preparing for himself. Oh well, it was opened now, so he had to eat it. Popping the bowl into the microwave, highly enjoying the silence he hasn’t had the privilege of having since his friend came over, he went for the fridge, putting three sausages onto a plate, chucking two pieces of bread into the toaster, not yet turning the thing on since the soup was the first thing on his agenda.

“Hungry?” Despite enjoying the silence, he was the one who broke it. Being the great host he was, he proposed canned garbage to his friend. He wasn’t too happy that Drew was still there, after all, he said he was going to beat it once he fed the spider but apparently plans had changed. 

“No, gonna get myself a kebab on my way home.” The guest declined, and the microwave dinged, announcing that the first step of Lou's dinner was ready. "Wanna tag along? It’s gonna be better than… this.” 

"I'm not going out, no." Louis refused, already sipping the soup out of the bowl, not enjoying the tepid temperature since the fucking appliance was too busy heating the bowl to do its job with the actual food. "Delicious." He snorted, spluttering the liquid over the edge of the bowl, ending the lucky streak that resulted in him not having any stains on his tee. Oh well, he's worn that thing for third consecutive days, so it was a miracle he went so long without looking like a sloppy pig he tended to be, though that wasn't exactly hard to keep clean when he barely left the bed lately.

His poor timing resulted in him having to wait for the second, proper part of his dinner. With his bum sitting on the counter, waiting for the toaster to do its job, he swung his legs, his eyes glued to his friend’s face. Andy looked back from time to time, squinting just slightly, scrutinizing Lou’s face as he tended to since the man fell into that weird place he was still in the midst of. 

‘Thank fuck.’ The writer sighed, leaving the thought to himself since he wasn’t exactly sure how soundproof his door was. Let’s just say that he didn’t need his friends thinking he hated them, being quite difficult already as it was. He was still relieved, not having to deal with people’s bullshit for at least twelve hours, maybe even more if he’s lucky.

Padding his way to the bathroom, he picked up the blue toothbrush, absentmindedly putting a big glob of toothpaste onto it, chucking it into his mouth and getting to scrubbing, his eyes wandering around his own face, quite a sight if he was the judge of that. 

Yeah, perhaps he should’ve shaved, his stubble getting out of hand, the unkempt situation making him look like someone’s dad, few more days and he’d pass as a grandpa. Shaking his head at how miserable he looked, he spat the foam out, cutting the brushing short, making a mental note to make up for that in the morning. Upon returning his rinsed toothbrush to the cup, he let his eyes wander down to the vessel and almost whined at the sight of the pink toothbrush, unbothered by anyone for over a week now. 

Knowing how pointless keeping it there was, he decided to bother it and tossed it into the bin to the side of his counter, not even sure why in the hell he needed a bin there. Parting his ways with Harry’s mug, he might as well go all the way and get rid of the last remnant of the boy he had in his flat. Well… not really the last one, there was still some pieces of the boy’s clothing that he was either gifted or Harry hasn’t cared about it enough to retrieve it. 

Of course, he wasn’t going to go back to sporting Gucci while doing the dishes, but he still hasn’t felt ready to let go of it, fully aware that his friends, particularly Andy, were going to shun him if he donates the pieces instead of dividing them between the three. So, he kept the clothes, in a bin bag at the bottom of his wardrobe, trying not to think too much about the rightful owner of them, his efforts not really paying off. 

With his hands tucked between his thighs, trying to source some warmth like that since he was stubborn enough to stick to the idea of sleeping naked even if weather conditions weren’t exactly favouring that, he pushed his face into the pillow, struggling to keep his thoughts at bay.

It was always harder at night when there was nothing to keep him busy. Just he and his brain that was sabotaging him with memories of the better times, arguably the best ones of his life. Just when he was about to go in a full-on mental breakdown, his phone dinged, unexpectedly considering that it was one in the morning already.

Grunting furiously, clearly showing his attitude towards getting his hands out of the swaddle burrito he was the filling of, he did just that, reaching for the phone he had laying on the pillow that recently changed the owner, thankfully vacant that particular night. 

Andy, of course. He sighed before he tapped the screen and revealed a greatly useful message that contained a link to Pornhub’s gay category. Well… great that his friend was so concerned about him getting the edge off, but no thanks. Responding with a very telling _“ew”_ , he tossed the mobile to the side, groaning as he pushed his hand back between his still somewhat bruised thighs he didn’t like to look at, not-so-patiently waiting for his skin to get back to normal.

Now that he finally knew how it felt to lose somebody quite as important as Harry was to him, he was even less understanding towards Andy's process that included going on a real bender every time he broke up with somebody. Not that he was complaining, but Drew's process always included Louis, going on exhausting clubbing streaks so his friend could chat up a new lad every night and take him home, acting as if the miserable part of the breakup hasn't affected him at all. He didn't know whether his friend was just as emotionally incapable as he was, Andy stubbornly claiming that it wasn't the case, or was just better in concealing his suffering than Louis was, the two of them never dwelling on the topic of emotions for too long. 

He was a polar opposite as it turned out, another new thing he learned about himself as a consequence of Harry coming and leaving his life so abruptly. His overblown libido gone on an instant, seemingly part of the bundle that Styles took with himself when he left. Nothing worked for Louis, the sudden impotence frustrating the hell out of him because even if he knew that getting off wouldn't help the emptiness he felt on the inside, he still held to the delusion, striving for a solution for his pain.

His lack of interest in porn and such wasn't exactly surprising, it was quite a theme in his life that all the things that brought him joy previously, stopped doing that once Harry left as if he was the fucking key to Lou's happiness or something. Even if he knew that it wasn't the case, remembering the times when he was quite a fulfilled chap without Styles in his life, he still couldn’t see himself recovering from the rubble he was still buried deep under, the ruins of what they’ve had with the singer covering everything that he once was.

He felt sleep spilling onto him in a haze, still not getting his hopes up for a quality rest he definitely needed. His nights were mostly sleepless as of late, the lack of preposterously long limbs wrapped around, or even thrown over him all too apparent, the loss of those limbs entrapping him like vines, more tremendous than he would have ever expected it to be. A scoff broke the silence when he remembered all the times he complained about not having enough space for himself, now so eager to give away every inch of the mattress to whoever was willing to take it. 

It got slightly better after the first night. He still barely slept, though the presence of Marco’s warmth helped a bit, poorly imitating Harry’s very dominant bed presence, though his current roommate was far more just when dividing the mattress, keeping to his half more often than he didn’t. Sometimes, when his insomnia left him just a tad delusional, it let Louis forget that it was his friend who slept next to him, not Harry. The hallucination calming him down, pushing him that extra step into sleep, though he should've rather called it a nap than a proper rest. 

He let himself believe that it wasn’t Marco, even though he knew he’d have to pay for that delusion when he wakes up to the empty bed. He pushed himself into claws of that lie, sometimes even letting his hand wander behind him, not turning his face since that would only spoil the illusion. 

It still wasn’t _it_ , of course, it fucking wasn't. He had the sculpture of Harry's stomach engraved on the flesh of his brain, he could still just about recall each bump he so frequently grazed his fingers over, every single strand of peach fuzz covering Harry's skin, every rib palpable when he dragged his fingers over his chest. He remembered every coarse hair dusting his navel, the hair on his chest, every mole, slightly protruding mark on his skin, the placement of his small nipples, that rough patch of skin, barely the size of the pad of his pinky that just, for whatever reason, refused to retain moisture, texture so different from the silky, borderline buttery skin all around. Everything he could still recall, everything Marco simply hasn't matched. He would've never predicted himself admitting that, but he even missed the snoring, constant noise behind his head, muffled against the nape of his neck, vibrations of the boy's throat almost palpable on his skin.

Even if he tried to look like it wasn't the case, he was still falling, over a week later, still no sight of it ever ending. If he really had to, he could force himself to look right about normal, regaining the deceptive sense of being in control, putting a mask that let him conceal everything that has been happening to him since Harry erased himself from his life. If upon meeting the boy, he would deem this thought ridiculous, he really didn't know how to live without him anymore.

He wanted to convince himself that it was the habit he developed for the finer things that he was surrounded with while at Harry’s or the sense of purpose he sourced straight from the fact that he was employed, no matter how much anxiety the sole idea of writing that book gave him but deep down, he knew damn well that those were only excuses.

Sure, he could deny, but he would look really fucking stupid doing that. It was really quite obvious that he craved Harry's companionship, not a single one of his friends fulfilling that desperate need, no matter how many hours they were spending together. Even with guys around, his thoughts still looped around Styles, his mind coveted their conversations, even the dumbest ones. His body longed for the boy and what was the most surprising, nothing about that yearning was carnal, erotic.

He just wanted to touch his soft skin, get his fingers all tangled in the lush hair atop his head, inhale his musk, taste his lips… All the privilege he was stripped out of all too abruptly and even if he was the only one to blame for that, he couldn’t figure out how to deal with the loss, maybe because it’s been the first time he ever lost something so important.

Had he known this was what love would bring into his life, he would’ve never longed for it the way he did a few weeks ago. He would’ve cherished the constant state of being dead inside and thanked the gods because now that he got the taste, the realization of the feeling only fully obvious once he lost what he hasn’t seen in front of him all this time, he couldn’t imagine anything being worse than the pain he was in as a consequence.

Maybe not even pain… He would gladly take pain over… whatever the fuck was this black hole inside of him, a rippling wound in his chest, deepened with every reminder of Harry. The dumbest things working as a trigger, pushing his buttons without warning. The chipped paint above the dresser mocking him, the remnants of tape, corners of colourful paper leftover from Louis' lousy attempt at getting rid of the posters that were hanging there just a week ago, in reality just him in the most potent state of furious he ever found himself in, ripping the paper apart, trying to remove the scraps Harry hasn't managed to erase himself. 

Harry would always come back to him when he least expected it. He would be living his life like it was normal again, at least _trying_ to do that, still miles of suffering stretching ahead of him before he's healed (quite unfair that it will most fucking likely take him longer to heal than the time he spent with Harry), and he'd cross one of the numerous sushi restaurants that polluted the streets of London. Immediately, his brain would push out the memories of Harry trying to get him to try some. The sky would turn that particular shade of orange that it was when they've watched the sunset on the beach, and it all came rushing back, throwing the little progress he managed to make out of the window, pushing him back to the starting point.

He came back with the smallest things. Like the Pokemon sticker, he stuck to Lou's phone case when they've found it in a bag of candy, the one that wouldn't let itself be scratched no matter what. Louis only went as far in the identification of the creature as ruling out Pikachu from the group of suspects, his Pokemon knowledge ending right about there since he was simply not that kind of a kid.

With all of that, there was also the threat of leaving the house, opening a browser of putting the radio on; the abundance of things related to Styles, ready to attack him as soon as he does any of that. That’s why his laptop was buried deep under his bed, phone rendered to its most basic functions, staying on only for the sake of his mates and mother who would sometimes call him to catch up. 

It only took one encounter with a particularly hysterical fan of Harry's to make him fully opt out of going outside, all the clean air, though calling the thick, grey cloud blanketed over London air was quite an overstatement, gotten during his hangouts on the balcony, most of the time there spent tending to laundry dryer that barely fit there. The rest spent looking down, thinking about what would've happened if he jumped. He could only assume that it would be pathetic, the third floor hardly high enough to guarantee that the fall would end his life, so his desperate attempt at feeling something would’ve been far from spectacular. Even more, he could land himself on a wheelchair and being a burden to somebody, especially his mother since there was nobody else who would take care of him, seemed even worse than dying, though most of the things felt worse than dying now.

He wasn’t suicidal, not _really._ Maybe it was just his little hobby of pitying himself or whatever, but he was still aware that there’s a lot of things ahead of him, people who would’ve missed him. Unsure of what it was that pushed the thoughts of his early demise, he just found himself pondering over the subject of dying far more than he would previously, but that wasn’t exactly a challenge since the former number was pretty low. One way or another, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to act up on the dark ideas, not even in his lowest moment had he seriously contemplated ending it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading early since I've left everybody sitting on the edge of their seat with the last one (let's be real, this one hasn't solved anything either but oops).  
>  Ngl, I'm sort of sefl-conscious about this one but I think it's as good as I could get it.  
>  As of today, I'm fully done with writing this story, so uploads might get a bit more frequent than the usual schedule of every two days, depends on the interest I guess.   
>  Sorry for hurting y'all like that, don't hate me please.  
>  Keep tight .x


	29. Chapter 29

"Someone is in a good mood today, isn't he?" Johnny cheered once he crossed the threshold of Louis' flat, Andy flowing in, right after him since the two of them recently came in a bit of a tandem, sharing a flat and all of that.

The smirk that was on Lou’s lips, elicited by a raunchy joke Marco had told him just a second ago, fully disappeared from his face, replaced with a fierce side-eye that he was now throwing at the two, clearly showing that his friend’s assumption was quite a distance from the truth. 

Not acknowledging the sudden change of expression, men walked into the kitchen, setting two six-packs of Carlsberg on the counter, getting right to opening four bottles, chucking the rest into the fridge before they got round to spreading the opened ones in between the lads as their little pregame before they properly go out and hit the pub.

There really was no need for Louis to say how he felt about going out, was it? By this time, the fifth week of him being, well… unemployed, he had given in to his friends' insisting maybe three times, this one being the fourth one. If he was still going to carry the unbothered act he adapted around three weeks prior, he had to make sacrifices, seemingly going back to routines they've had before a certain someone entered his life and shed doubt on everything Louis ever thought he was. 

It still stung, it was still fresh, though it was true what they’ve said… time really heals. Sure, he was still far from over the little fling he had in the summer, fully accepting that his life peaked somewhere in the time he shared with Harry, and he was fine with that. He still missed him, very much so, as preposterous as it sounded, more and less with every day that passed, not really sure about the logic behind this claim.

But if he lived to see this day, pushing through what he would’ve easily called the heartbreak of his lifetime (didn’t matter it was the first time, let’s not talk about that), he was going to be fine… At least that's what his mother had told him when he finally broke and pretty much wept on her shoulder when he visited her, striving for much-needed change of scenery. 

“Sooo happy.” He scoffed, sending a venomous smirk Johnny’s way, jumping back to his roommate’s more empathetic gaze.

Eleven days. That’s how much it took Andrew to spill the beans about Louis’ little love story to the rest of his friends. He still felt somewhat salty about his confidentiality being tarnished like that, though he couldn’t really promise he wouldn’t have done exactly the same had their roles been switched. One advantage of his best mate’s incapability to keep his gob shut, was the fact that he didn’t have to be the one to break the news to his mates, and it was really quite obvious that their patience was running out and he’d have to do that rather sooner than later. 

They weren't even shocked, at least they didn't look like they were. Perhaps his acting abilities, acquired somewhere during school, weren't nearly as great as he thought they were, though, by the start, his attempts at keeping it together were non-existent. With that behaviour, they assumed it was something major, both suspecting that it was something regarding his mother. Thank god it wasn’t. From what he heard, their faces almost cracked when they’ve learned that their mate was able to chat up a lad like Harry Styles, their vision far fucking off from what had actually transpired.

Thankfully enough, they took the hint and haven't inquired too much. Marco sometimes did, but he deserved some slack for how much time he was forced to spend with Louis, most likely already aware that he was needed by his friend's side, his flat hunting coming to a halt not long after it started. It was him who saw the writer at his worst, he was the witness of the breakdowns, the periods of numbness or even the unreasonable anger that sometimes sparked in him. He hasn't judged when he found his friend passed out on the couch after confiding in a bottle, hasn't complained about the laziness that sometimes made Louis forget to wash dishes after himself or tackle the laundry. Till the day he dies, he was pretty sure Marco was going to be the first person that pops up in his head when he hears that saying about how you only know your friend's worth when you're in crisis.

Of course, he wasn’t saying that Andy or Johnny were in any sense inferior, absolutely not. It was just a whole different dynamic with Marco, being there for the majority of his struggle. He never felt closer to that guy than he felt right about now, though it could’ve been just the fact that they were living together, he never lived with neither Andy nor Johnny so he couldn’t really know.

Slapping his palm on Louis' thigh, eliciting a hiss from between the host's teeth, Andy dropped onto the couch, stretching his long arm and throwing it over Lou's shoulder. "Looking very excited about going out, yeah?" He pulled the writer, the smaller friend involuntarily curling under his arm, grimacing at the unwelcome hug. "I'm going to get you laid, boy. I'm a fully committed wingman tonight."

“Yay.” Louis faked enthusiasm, sucking a sip from his beer, the bottle misted over due to the temperature difference between the drink and surroundings. “Gonna get myself clap as a rebound." The laugh that broke out, was actually authentic, followed by a silent scoff when Louis thought how unlike him it was to connect every kind of random sex encounter with a venereal disease. Tomlinson from six months ago would've slapped him right in that stupid cakehole of his. 

Settling himself on the armchair to Lou’s left, Johnny let himself grab a controller to the console Marco was occupying, waving at his friend to switch to multiplayer once he’s done with his match. Letting his gaze skip from Louis’ to Andrew’s face, he let his lips bend in a smirk. “With all due respect mate…” Only his eyes, still plastered to their tallest friend, indicated that Drew was the one he was addressing. “I think he’s proven that he doesn’t need a wingman." Only Andy hasn't shown amusement at the words. "Harry fucking Styles, who would've thought…”

Johnny’s head was still shaking in disbelief when the other two sets of eyes stuck to Louis’ face, trepidation visible in the curious stares of friends that apparently expected him to break down in tears or whatever. He wasn’t sure at what point in their friendship, had his pals come to the conclusion that he was such a crybaby, it must’ve been recent, though he wanted to think that he hasn’t given them too many reasons to consider him one of those people.

Maybe it was some kind of praxis he wasn't aware of, complete lack of acknowledgement of Harry's (in this case) existence, included in a handbook he hasn't read but probably should have, his lack of experience in breakup related matters, very loud and clear lately. Not giving his friends any more reasons to consider him a nut case, he pushed an offended expression onto his face, grasping a hand over his chest. "Excuse me? Am I not good enough?" His act was broken with a scoff. Of fucking course, he was not good enough. Had he been, he wouldn't lead to their untimely parting with his conniving that proved to be pointless anyway. 

Still shaking his head, this time with a smirk that crept onto his lips once he realized that his ill-considered use of a name that they without consultation tossed to the list of the people that shall not be named, hasn’t triggered his friend nearly as severely as he thought it would, Johnny rolled his eyes, taking a sip to show that he was not going to entertain Louis’ bullshit.

The hand, thrown over his shoulder, quickly and not-so-organically turned into a proper snuggle, Andy getting a pass for that awkwardness since he was similarly aloof as Louis usually was. See, he appreciated his friend's attempt at providing a reminder of the physical affection he had with Harry, even though Drew hasn't exactly understood what it was that he was trying to make up for. He still pulled away from the hug, feeling like a proper arsehole for doing that. It just didn’t feel… right, the main instigator of most of the cuddling sessions in his life, still lingering in the back of his head like a parasite, eating him away with every thought that revolved around him.

What a little surprise. The memories of Harry punching him right in the gut after he went almost a full day not thinking about him? Who would’ve thought?! Louis almost scoffed at the thought process, very fucking tired of the routine after every time the boy returned when he was just about close to hitting that particular milestone he set for himself. Of course, thinking about how much he’s not thinking about him still counted, so he really was not helping himself.

Sitting on the couch, surrounded by the chatter of his pals that clearly haven’t realized that he was nearing another one of his episodes, he just sipped his beer, not appreciative of the distinct taste that this brand carried but whatever, beer was beer, he’s not rich enough to suddenly switch to craft beverages and such. 

With every minute he got closer to leaving his house, his level of disapproval spiked. Against all reason, he started praying that somehow the couch comes alive and swallows him whole. He felt on himself the weight of the gazes scrutinizing him once the pals caught up to the change of his mood, every second in their focus dragged to monstrous sizes, small eternities passing with every skip of the hand on the face of the clock above the door, the same door he was now deliberating fleeing through, desperate to escape even if it meant abandoning his own flat for the time being.

None of his plans was exactly viable so, there he was, a deer in headlights aggressively tugging on the tag of his tee-shirt, thin fabric tightening around his waist with every nervous pull to it. And then it broke, left twisted around his index finger, leaving him without anything to occupy himself with. He _almost_ bit down on his own fist, his body rocking back and forth three times before he caught himself, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t ideal for his friends to see him spiralling, his behaviour deserving of a proper nutcase that he was recently. It was really quite worrying how quickly his mood changed. They probably have a name for that, though he wasn’t curious to find out for what exactly he should be committed into a mental institution. 

It hadn't taken long for him to compose himself, at least on the surface level where his friends could see that something was wrong. With a quick trip to the loo, he splashed his face with cold water, stopping himself from slapping himself since a hand-shaped red patch on his cheek would've been hard to explain without making himself sound like a proper loony. After that, he was good as new, prancing into the living room, back to the space he abandoned without a word. He still had to sit through a bit of scrutiny, his pals not-so-inconspicuously measuring him with their careful gazes, searching for tears in his eyes, slits on his wrists or whatever the hell they thought he was doing in the bathroom.

Occupying himself with a fistful of salted almonds even that product having a memory of Harry associated with it, he stuck his gaze to the window, squinting a bit before he decided that he could, in fact, detect drops of moisture on the glass pane. “It’s raining.” He announced, barely realizing that words left his lips, chewing through the almonds.

"We're in London, of course, it's fucking raining." Andy chimed in, his deep chuckle stretched for a second longer than it fitted.

With a sigh, he stood up and crossed his way to the storage he had next to his front door. feeling all eyes on him, at least the ones that weren’t glued to the TV screen, he opened the furniture and rummaged through it, confirming his suspicion that his umbrella wasn’t there, never returned by one of the three sitting in his living room. “I don’t have an umbrella.” He announced, looking out of the window to assess whether the rain was severe enough that this fact could be considered a serious obstacle.

Keeping long arms crossed on his chest, Andy looked at him like he knew exactly what he was plotting, and that was probably the case. “Of course you do not, because you’re not sixty years old.” The man scoffed, his head cocked to the side.

"Were you sixty years old when you borrowed it from me?" He shot blindly, maybe not exactly. Out of the three of them, Andy was the only one he suspected of being the culprit. Johnny was just too polite to do that, very respectful of other people's possessions, never forgetting to return stuff he borrowed or replace anything he unintentionally broke. With all of Marco's stuff being in his flat, it really could've only been Drew. "Hence why I don't have it right now." He made sure to point that out, side-eyeing the pal that was sitting to his right.

Very aware of the obvious intrigue, his pals already set their minds on not budging, eager to go out and blow some steam, maybe secretly motivated by the fact that Louis properly left his flat maybe once a week.

“We’re not staying here, stop whining.” Marco shot at him before he even had a chance to propose that solution. He most fucking definitely was going to, only showing how easy to see through he’s become."Why, though?" Louis hasn't given the fight quite this easily.

“Because there’s no beer left. No anything, to be exact.” Johnny chimed in, tossing a controller onto the coffee table when he was done with losing against the co-host, who had quite an unfair advantage with all the hours he put in the game ever since he moved in.

Pushing a displeased groan, Louis crossed his hands on the chest, making himself look like a stubborn toddler. “The store is three steps away, I could go get us something.”

“The bar is ten steps away, we’re going. You’re not getting laid here, are you?” Andy looked around the room, confirming his words with gentle shakes of amused men’s heads. 

“Whether we leave or not, I’m still getting stuffed the same amount.” The host argued, knowing damn well that he was going to keep that word. 

“How come?” He wasn’t even sure who asked the question, the voice unrecognizable, muffled against a rim of a bottle.

It was quite annoying that the word ‘no’ just didn’t seem to cut it, though he would’ve lied if he said that he was never the one pressing for answers quite this stubbornly so, he couldn’t really be mad, could he? “Just no, I’m not prepped, it’s absolutely not happening tonight.” Out of all the reasons, he picked one of the least significant, not very willing to share the true reason why he hasn’t pursued any sexual release after Harry, well… aside from his hand but the quick wanks he sometimes had in the shower could’ve been barely deemed a release, very unsatisfying and for some bizarre reason, feeling straight-up wrong.

“As if that ever stopped you.” Andy wouldn’t give up, teasing his friend even though all four of them knew that this battle already had a loser, very sore one at that, unwilling to leave. 

He wasn't wrong, though. Being as conscious of his body as he was, Louis knew when he could wing it. Hell, with the majority of his intercourses being quite spontaneous, he frequently made do with a thorough shower and a prayer before he went for it, wishful thinking usually doing the trick. Just at that moment, he came to regret the cockiness that shone in his eyes once he shared the luck he had in that unpleasant department.

"Why do I even have to explain myself?" He snarled, frustrated. "Bottom line is, I am not having sex tonight." He omitted the part that he still needed a while before he gets back to casual sexual relations with strangers... if he was ever going to go back to that.

“You seem very confident in that resolution. Let’s just see how fast it changes once a twink tries to suck you off in the bathroom.” 

Louis physically cringed at the thought. Very unusual reaction, that’s for sure. Maybe it was just the awkwardness he felt speaking about his sex life quite this openly, though that had never been an issue in that group. It sure was something new, but he wasn’t eager to delve into that just yet.

“I am sure.” He only said, scratching off the remnants of a label he tore off his empty beer bottle, his eyes finding the grey ones looking back at him. “Because I am a somewhat intelligent individual with control over my actions.” The roll of Andy’s eyes not acknowledged at all, Tomlinson already done with his friends feeling like they had more say in terms of his sex life than he had.

“God!” Andrew exclaimed, the booming timbre of his voice almost enough to make the walls vibrate. “Who would’ve thought Styles would turn you into such a bore?” The review of Lou’s new persona concluded with a sigh. “Thought it was going to be a complete opposite.” His head shook as he muttered, his friends only chuckling, more and less frightened with Andy so carelessly throwing Harry’s name around. Let’s just say that their anxiety was quite foolish; as if Louis only thought about the boy upon him being brought up by someone. Maybe there was some truth to it but not a lot.

Despite his hardest efforts to prevent that, he still ended up in a bar, the weather only altering their destination to one closer to where they were heading from. Eleven in the evening and there he was, sitting on a stool, alone, scratching the varnish on the bar with every spin he gave to his keys, index finger laced through the keyring, the noise he was producing more than likely getting on the nerves of the sparse crowd in the room. Most people proved themselves smarter than his friends, staying in on a night quite this unpleasant. It was raining cats and dogs, hardly a weather suitable for late-night endeavours.

With the lack of people in the bar, came the difficulty Andrew had to chat up somebody, already abandoning the position of a wingman once he realized that his plan of getting his mate laid, was bound to come to nought. He wasn't sure where the other half of their group was, only as aware as knowing that they were not anywhere near him.

There was nobody near him, though. A bartender, tall brunette measuring him with her gaze when she wasn't busy mixing drinks for the clients or polishing the pints she then threw on the counter with a loud thud. Two blokes sat on the other end of the bar, occupied with conversation Louis hasn't cared enough to eavesdrop on.

He caught them looking though, one of them more than the other and let’s just say he wasn’t exactly surprised about that. It would’ve been quite hypocritic of him to be annoyed, really. Spinning the keys around, half-consciously bringing attention to himself. With eyes glued to the bar, fresh drinks replacing the previous ones the second he managed to empty his glass… He must’ve looked miserable, not that he really cared. 

He would've scoffed if it didn't make him look like a psycho, thinking that he probably looked like all those divorcees that frequented the bars, drowning their sorrows in cheap booze, searching for companionship so desperately that they laid their deepest secrets onto the poor bartender. How much more before he starts telling the tale of his summer fling to the brunette girl? He wasn't sure yet, just wondering whether she would believe him or just brush him off as a drunk idiot talking out of his ass.

It never was him, the self-pitying bastard that thought he was the only one who has problems in his life, but he could use somebody who would've listened to him right now. Truly listened. The worst thing was that the one person that was brought into his thoughts with his realization was not only the person that doesn't want anything to do with him, but also the only one he could've confided in without jeopardizing the confidentiality of the brief relationship that was, by all means, to be kept secret.

The bizarre feeling overtook him as he sat at the bar, accepting another glass of cheap scotch with a smile that despite being sincere, hasn’t reached his eyes. Was he pissed off at his friends? Perhaps a bit, though he should’ve seen this coming, more than familiar with the usual routine of them splitting upon arriving and getting round to their separate endeavours.

He couldn't identify what it was, something melancholic in nature that successfully steered him away from any ventures of his own, leaving him looking quite fucking pathetic for everybody to see. That's precisely why he didn't want to come, from their previous outings knowing more than enough that he was bound to end up like that. Well, shit happens. Being already amid forming a plan of sneaking out and heading home, he wasn't going to focus on complaining about his fate.

It must've been his third or fourth glass of scotch when the familiar haze started clouding his restless thoughts, providing much-needed end to his overthinking. As it got later, less and less people remained scattered in the bar, nearly everybody already carefully evaluated by the writer, who without having anything better to do, went on a journey of making assumptions about people he never even met, assigning them traits and creating life stories for strangers.

As stupid as it was, he was fairly entertained, already getting round to leaving, though he had to wait out since Johnny was chatting up a lad dangerously close to the exit. Having only the bartender and three people sitting at the bar left on his agenda, he stuck his gaze to a guy sitting two stools from him. To be honest, he started pitying the chap, the blonde looking comparably miserable as he could only imagine he looked.

He was somewhere around making up a reason for a divorce that this guy was either after, in the process of or at least nearing, the ring on his finger sending mixed signals, when somebody slid into the seat to Lou’s right, completely obstructing the view of Tomlinson’s newest subject.

Before he had a chance to get a good look on the man… or the boy, more like, that forced himself as Lou’s new focus, two glasses were set in front of the guy by the bartender, one of them pushed to Lou’s side. He questioned the drink with a cocked eyebrow, only then realizing that it was one of the two that sat on the other end of the bar when he arrived.

For a second or two too long, the boy’s hazel eyes were stuck to Lou’s face, squinting as if he was searching for something. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He finally scoffed, the question really the only reaction he could think of to this bizarre encounter. Yeah, yeah, he knew damn well his face was clean but out of the very few ways he could’ve started this conversation, seeing that his new bar friend wasn’t going to, this one seemed like the best one.

He elicited a smirk from the boy who must’ve realized that his behaviour might have been alarming. Good, because it was. “I’m sorry I’m staring, it’s random but have we met before?” The seriousness of his inquiry only amplified with the tilt of the boy’s head; his long, auburn curls pooling on the bar top.

The scoff got caught in Lou’s throat once he realized that the guy was dead-serious, the question still stuck in his eyes. “Seriously?” He mocked with a smile on his lips, amusement pushing away his initial pensiveness. “You’ve been staring at me for what… an hour now? And this is the best you can do?” His chest shook in a chuckle, silhouette slouching a bit onto the bar as he picked up the glass he was gifted, sipping the drink that was unquestionably better grade of scotch than the one he was getting for himself. “Mate, I’m a writer. You’re gonna need something better than that.” His evaluation of the line concluded with another sip.

Okay, he knew his statement was idiotic. Well, of course, the lad needed something more to spark any interest in him. Even more, he'd have to consult a gene and use up one of his three wishes to transform himself into one Harry Styles since that was the one guy Louis was interested in at the moment, not yet determined when his pickiness would change.

“It’s not that… I mean, that too. But I could’ve sworn I’ve seen you around.” The boy’s hand reached to the mound of dishevelled curls atop his head, brushing it towards the back to stop them from falling into his face. “Do you go to eighties parties in Soho? On Saturdays?” He took a shot in the dark, thick eyebrows furrowing when, in Lou’s reaction, he saw that he hasn’t guessed correctly.

"I can't say that I do. Do you?" Well, he might have sounded a bit harsher than he intended to. To be fair, it all came from the hardship he had imagining the guy opposite of him on the eighties themed party. Let's just say that this grungy vibe he was exuding was hard to overlook, though now that he was thinking about it, he could pass for a redheaded Slash or something like that.

With every curious gaze that settled on his face, he was less and less interested in his companion’s investigation. Most likely, he just mistook him for somebody else because as characteristic as this guy’s look was, he would’ve remembered if they had ever met. 

“When there’s nothing better to do.” A shrug shook his broad shoulders. “You’re a writer, any chance I know you from your works?”

“Doubtful.” He shook his head, lips pressed together in a tight line, keeping it vague.

“The TV?”

“Nope.” Another shot swatted away by borderline bored Louis. 

_Technically_ , the boy could’ve seen him in the telly, the memory of his one (and only) appearance in some morning show watched by spinsters so they wouldn’t feel lonely eating breakfast alone, still quite fresh in his head. What hasn’t helped, was the fact that his friends never failed to dig up the clip from YouTube when he was just about to forget the humiliation. What a total waste of time. To this day he regretted waking up at six for this bullshit. With the boy being quite a chunk younger than he was, his delicate, androgynous features screaming youth, he doubted he could've seen that though. Thankfully so, the fewer witnesses, the better.

When the boy finally gave up on the little game, far more entertaining for him than for the other guy, he insisted on getting Louis another drink for the trouble. Having pushed this mystery aside, settling on the thing being a mistake, their conversation shifted its tone. What was first the usual complaining about the weather, the skies still pouring cold drops all over the unfortunate souls that found themselves outside, ended up being a full-on interview Louis concluded, far more interested in listening to what the boy had to say than talking about himself, not that he was very interested anyway.

Let's just say that he was just the tiniest bit intrigued when his companion introduced himself as Manson. At first, Louis was sure that this was just a nickname he used instead of his real, normal name. He was interested to the point where he inquired about the quirky name, fully prepared to hear a tale of how inspirational Marilyn Manson (or Charles, heaven forbid) was to the boy. It would’ve made sense, judging by his look only. Louis remembered _those_ guys from his own school, every school had a handful of them.

Turned out that his assumption was incorrect, probably just as all of the other ones he made, the ones he had no way of verifying in conversation. It was his parents who were fans of the artist and burdened him with a name he was, more than likely, going to have to explain to similarly nosy folks for the rest of his life.

It was as pleasant as chats with strangers in a bar tended to be, aside from Andy, who with every chance he got, reminded Louis how stubborn he was about his claim of not having sex. Of course, he was extremely stealthy with his whispering into Lou's ear, incredibly proud of himself, seeing his friend's chat as some kind of prelude to getting laid.

Honestly, fuck it. Louis wasn’t going to waste any more time on insisting, so he just said nothing, shooshing his mate away before he says something dumb and scares Manson away. 

And there it was. Maybe an hour into their conversation, Tomlinson's body swaying a bit in his seat, the wobbliness fully blamed on the drinks he had throughout the evening. He was just in the process of making up an excuse to leave, when a question he had not anticipated hit his ears, bringing uncalled for awkwardness into the exchange. 

There was not much ambivalence in the question whether he lived in the neighbourhood or not, especially not when after he said he was sharing a room with a pal, he was invited over to the boy’s place, his intentions quite clear.

"Listen, I'm flattered." A hand supported his swaying head, eyes stuck to the face of a boy who already looked like he knew what was coming. Still, it didn't alter Louis' plan on being as gentle as he could. Maybe with rugged look, the guy opposite of him was serving and the seemingly unaffected persona, him being so careful wasn't justified or whatever, though he had a few horror stories of guys getting triggered for being respectfully turned down, so there was really no expectations of how things were to gown down. Adding to that, he really enjoyed the conversation up until that point, so why would he be rude.

“But…” The forced smirk on Manson’s face hasn’t indicated the thing going south anytime soon.

“Yeah, but…” Louis scoffed. Shuffling his head for a viable excuse not to go to this guy’s place, he came up blank. “I don’t really do that.” Without anything better to say, he just went with the truth. At least a part of it.

It's been a while since the last time he had any boy in bed and if Louis from some time ago, would've laughed in the face of anybody who would’ve told him that he’s going to turn down a fit, willing hook up because he just ‘doesn’t feel like having sex’, that was the actual reason why he declined.

Was it still Harry lingering in his thoughts, the irrational attachment to that boy still keeping him from pursuing anybody else? Yeah, likely. Could he push through the obstacle that held him back with a delusion that there was still something to be done in his and Harry’s situation? Probably. Was he going to try? No, at least not yet.

Sure, at some point, he would have to let go and move on, but now, he decided to pity himself a bit more. Give him a rest, it was his first time for fuck’s sake!

After the confession, his companion’s gaze grew even more curious, making him feel like some kind of freak for saying no. Was he a freak? Maybe, though rejecting a guy wasn’t enough of a reason to deem him one. “You don’t do what? Have sex?” Mocking loud and clear in Manson’s voice, deep and somehow, still quite friendly.

Was it really that outlandish for a guy his age not to be searching for a hook up in a dingy bar in the middle of a week? He wouldn’t think that it was. For all the boy knew, he might have been in a relationship, have morals or just live in celibate so what’s up with the derision? Does nobody come to bars for a drink anymore? Is that not the primary role of those kinds of places? Apparently not.

Mildly bored with the conversation, hardly enthusiastic about delving deeper into the issue of his temporary celibacy, he tilted his glass almost upside down and let the rest of his drink slip down his oesophagus, shaking his head ever so slightly when he caught the bartender's gaze to announce that he's done with drinks. For the better really, he still needed to get home on his own legs. "Yeah, that." The answer finally rolled off his tongue, maybe a bit mumbled but still intelligible. "Put that on hold for a bit." A bitter chuckle concluded his words.

A furrow settled in between his buddy’s eyebrows, his head tilting even more to his right.

“As in a challenge? No nut November or whatever?” 

Louis scoffed at the thought. Sure, maybe he wasn't the king of maturity and such, but the vision of being juvenile enough to do that kind of thing felt quite amusing. Sure, let's grow myself blue balls for an internet challenge. His head shook, and only then another question hit his compromised brain. "It's not November, is it?"

The inquiry must’ve sounded bizarre, but he genuinely wasn’t sure. In his line of work, it wasn’t exactly uncommon to lose track of time. He often found himself oblivious of the weekday he was on but… he couldn’t have lost a whole month, could he? 

Doing quick math in his head, skipping five weeks from the fifth of September, the day that took the shameful spot of the second-worst day of his life, he hasn't landed in November.

"Not yet, no." The look he was given made him feel like a proper madman, and he did not appreciate it. Not at all. But it was all swiped away with a smirk on Manson's face. "It's a shame you don't…” His fingers bent in air quotation marks. “Really do _that.”_ His plump lips pressed in a line as he observed his companion getting up from the seat.

Louis quickly pushed his hands through the sleeves of his coat and pulled the hood over his head, delusional that it was going to be enough to combat at least a part of the rain. Reminding himself of the number he kept in the back of his head, adding up all the drinks as he went through, he pulled a fifty from his wallet, knowing that it was more than enough to pay for the drinks he had and some of his companion’s. “Get my man another one of these.” He addressed the bartender with a smile, giving the same one to the boy who still sat opposite. 

“You know where to find me when you’re through with the celibate, right?” Manson winked at him, an amused chuckle accompanying their parting.

Tomlinson nodded, having no intention to chase around some random might-have-been hookup. “Eighties parties in Soho, of course!" His laughter rang through the whole bar. "Was fun chatting, sorry for wasting your time though." With a gesture of a hand, he dismissed a protest that was coming his way. "Cheers, mate." His hand patted the boy's shoulder, and there, he was allowed to go. At last.

With the last hour somewhat wasted, he was dragging his feet over the wet pavement, not too intricate of a route ahead of him with the bar being right on his street. Too tired to even care, he slapped his feet, splashing in the puddles of water the sewers didn’t manage to collect, the same amount of unperturbed with the rain that smacked him in the face with its heavy droplets.

Fine, maybe it wasn’t a complete waste of the evening. For the first time in a while, he felt actually normal, maybe not completely but still, the closest to normal than he’s been since he went to LA. Alcohol did a good job of loosening him up, pushing him into that conversational space that favoured deep chats with strangers.

Of course, he was never going to admit that to his friends, but he was kind of glad that they’ve forced him to go to the bar. With the weather being quite as horrendous, the consequence of which was the lack of less persistent bargoers, it wasn’t the usual bar bullshit he was used to with the drunk people screaming over each other and altogether mess. Even somewhat enjoyiong the evening out, he was still sure he was going to oppose the next time his pals are insisting on them going somewhere because that’s what Louis did lately, he isolated himself as much as he could.

Not even half of his walk was done with, yet he was already _soaked_ , the cold rain streaming down his face before it slid down to his t-shirt that simply couldn’t collect any more water. And of course, it was freezing. Must’ve been ten degrees, at most. Making a little pros and cons list in his head, he was sure as fuck that this outing was not worth the cold he was bound to develop from exposing himself to the torture that his walk home was.

At least the air smelled fresher than usual, though that was more than likely him making shit up, not exactly clear-minded after the pools of scotch he poured into himself, sloshing in his stomach with every step he took.

The street was close to empty as he walked south, only a stray unfortunate person walking past him, just as wet as he was, a stone of weight he was forced to carry added in the water that soaked into the fabric of his clothing. He really could've used that umbrella right now. Would he look like a grandpa with it? Maybe, though that claim seemed quite ridiculous to him. One way or another, he would much rather be a dry-ass grandpa than soaked himself.

Wiping his shoes on the mat in front of his building was the single most useless thing he's done in a while, still doing it for the sake of the courtesy that he apparently worried about in his drunken state. Hands stuck into the pockets of his coat, shuffling through the clutter he was carrying with himself on the daily, he stepped into the elevator, finding the keys around the second floor, and that only meant he should have really minimized the amount of junk in his pockets.

Making a plan to toss the receipts, chewing gum wrappers and altogether lint from his pockets, he pushed a wet key into the lock and turned it, tugging the knob just to stumble onto resistance, cursing Marco out for being so diligent in closing the flat, turning the key twice, the most pointless thing ever. See, if a burglar was to pick a lock, it wouldn’t make a difference if it was turned once or twice, right?

He was sure he was correct, still contemplating the subject as he wobbled into his flat, not bothering with locking the door as his roommate was yet to come home, at least that’s what he thought, not entirely sure how successful his friend’s bar endeavours were.

After stripping naked out of his wet clothes, dry pair of boxers pulled onto his hips, he sat on the couch, not aware why exactly he hasn’t headed to bed. Well… it wasn’t really late yet, far too early for him to get to sleep just yet. In some sort of twisted way, he could sense that this night was going to be a good one, rest wise of course. Had he been smart, he would’ve jumped into the bed and milked the good circumstances before they went away. Looked like he wasn’t all that intelligent after all.

Ears busy with a background noise provided by a rerun of a _Postman Pat_ , for some night owl babies apparently, he brushed his eyes over the coffee table, searching for the remote since that fucking twat, ever since he was a baby, terrified the shit out of him. “Fucking ginger pedo.” He snarled to himself with annoyance, still nowhere near finding what he was looking for.

In his search, he stumbled onto a pile of papers, mostly bills that came in the mail just this morning. He groaned at the sight of the inconspicuous envelope, perched atop the pile that with its boring appearance, hasn't really given away that it was bearing the threat of ruining his life.

Delusional that he misunderstood the clear message previously or that it somehow transformed into something else since he read through it for the last, fifth time, he picked up the envelope that looked like it was shredded by a wolverine and took out the slip of paper that being a standard sheet of printer paper, weighed something around a ton in his hands.

It was still the same. A very formal letter from Jeff’s lawyers, filled with law lingo he was yet to google, with quotes from the deal he signed, reminding him of the consequences of him not delivering his side. Of course, he fucking knew all of that. Ever since he last saw Harry, he was dreading every visit of a mailman, expecting exactly what he has received that day. 

_Technically,_ he didn’t have to be with Harry to finish the project. He was almost positive he could have winged it with his notes only, using his secret power of verboseness he was heavily utilizing back in the day, especially in his school assignments. The thing was, there was nothing left of what he had collected throughout his journey with Styles.

See, knowing Louis, everybody would bet good money on the fact that he got emotional again and smashed his computer on the floor or something similarly impetuous. To be fair, he gave people every reason to think about him like that, the cup debacle rushing to his head immediately with the greatest display of his soap opera persona.

That was not the case, though, not this time. He was battling with the thoughts for a while, the threat of becoming homeless looming over him, becoming more real with every day he spent pondering over the subject of his current professional endeavour. He thought about it, he did. Doing a thing any adult would've done and pushing through was an option but... It just didn’t feel right, maybe even more so than bankruptcy. 

In a very conscious decision, one of the most thought out ones in his life, he erased everything from his computer, double-checking if there wasn't anything left on the cloud in case he has second thoughts. Now there was nothing to be done, and it still felt like the only viable option, though the letter he received from Jeff’s lawyer shed some doubt on that verdict. 

Well, at least he still had a room at his mum’s place, right? That thought was the last push he needed to fully trash all the work he has done in the last few months, all the renditions of the book, all the notes on his phone, voice recordings, everything. In a particularly dramatic act, taking advantage of his visit in Doncaster, he watched the only physical copy he printed out for no reason whatsoever, disappear, devoured by flames, the final conclusion to the opportunity that led to the best time in his life, which came with the price he had to pay with arguably the worst moments he had to endure.

Cursing his morality out for making an appearance in the least suitable moment, pushing him to choices that had a big chance of dooming his entire career, he took the letter with himself and padded to the bedroom, leaving the blanket he was covered on the couch, not bothering with switching the telly off. In the last sober thought, he chucked the letter into the drawer of a nightstand he kept his documents in, not ready to break the news to his friends just yet.

Feeling the weight of the letter pushing onto his chest, decreasing the volume of his breaths, he decided to open the window, thinking that the unusual freshness to the air will help, at least a bit. With that checked off his to-do-list, he let himself fall to the mattress, missing his side completely, rolling onto the familiar pillow with an annoyed grunt.

The previous predictions of good night’s sleep turned out to be a whole load of bosh. He wasn’t sure how long he was stirring in and out of sleep, every position he adapted weirdly uncomfortable, even if it was his usual one. Marco still wasn’t home, which might have been at least a part of the reason why he was so restless. 

His streak of not thinking about Harry came to nought when he remembered the embrace that never failed to lull him to sleep, even if that wasn’t desired. He could use one of those right now. Hell, he was pretty sure that Marco’s presence would do the trick, even if he laid to the side like a dead man, barely twitching through the night because that’s just how he slept. 

He had none of that though, so he just laid there, all balled up because the physical side of him was cold. Did it make sense that he hasn’t really… felt cold? He knew his body temperature was dropping, of course. Let's just say that the freezing toes that sent a shiver down his spine when he brushed them over his calf haven't left much doubt about that. 

It wasn’t alien to him, the feeling. He’s been like that before, though he assumed it stopped, that he was over that. Apparently not. Well… it was always harder at night, that’s most likely why he was descending back into that pit he hasn’t yet managed to even fully get out of, falling back into the place of nothing, hollow.

Not much mattered at this place. His self-pitying taking over the physical side of things, fully disregarding the goosebumps, the shivers prompted by the icy blows of the wind, carrying the suspended droplets of moisture, spreading the cold mist all over his barely clothed body. He hasn’t cared, not enough to get up and close the window, get rid of the draft that licked his toes; not enough to get himself covered with the duvet.

Marco’s absence was convenient to him at the moment, letting him collect the cracked demeanour and glue it back together for when he’s not alone anymore. Now that he thought about it… He most likely wouldn’t land in this place if his friend was around, so maybe his claim wasn’t exactly reasonable.

But he was alone, too alone for his liking even if he, just a few hours ago was complaining about his pals being around. Not now though, he would take pushy company over the regret he felt in regards to how he handled things with his friend. He'd take physical torture over the regret of being born that somehow snuck into his thoughts without him even realizing.


	30. Chapter 30

“God, I hate that fucking cow!” Andy chanted, though maybe shouted would’ve been a better word to use. You know, just making sure that the intrusive neighbour gets what she deserved for bothering them with her nagging for the third time that day.

Sure, it was a bit harsh, Louis knew that. But then, the woman knocked on the door for the _third_ time since they’ve started and it wasn’t even late yet! Adding to that, Louis has warned the bitches from the tenants’ association that he was going to be doing renovations that weekend and that was already too big of a word to use for him repainting the flat, so the neighbour really just got what she deserved. At least it wasn’t him who sent her away with a sweet little bundle like the one Drew has served her, though he had a hunch that one way or another, that was still going on his account. Oh well…

Eyeing the flat, Louis scrunched his face, not thrilled about the colour they've ended up with after the paint dried. It wasn't what he was aiming for, not at all but he was going to keep that opinion to himself, hopefully, his laziness stronger than the displeasure with the outcome because he was sure as fuck not going to repaint the walls before their state is at least as bad as it was just this morning. 

Shrugging his shoulders, dismissing the doubts he had about the paint choice, he glued his eyes back to the heap of papers he had stacked on his lap, shuffling through the documents he managed to collect throughout the entirety of his adult life. "I bet my mum would disagree, but I probably don't need payslips from ten years ago?" Without waiting for an answer from one of his friends, Louis tossed the handful of payslips from both Daily Mail and his disaster of a first job. Let's just say that his below-average motor skills did a quick work of demoting him from a waiter to the dishwasher and that just about ended his brief career in the food business.

“Hell yes.” Johnny whispered to himself and started feeding the slips into the paper shredder, enjoying the task that he assigned himself way too much for an adult.

Providing his friend with more material to shred, Johnny insisting that tossing your fragile information into the rubbish was not something a responsible person should do, Louis got rid of like a half of the contents of the nightstand he kept his papers in. Swaying his head to the rhythm of some random playlist, he divided the papers between Andy, who took care of the work stuff and Marco who took over the much smaller ‘private’ category that included things like the matters of his health, budgeting and whatnot; boring, adult stuff. 

Sure, cataloguing documents into two binders and getting rid of the redundant ones, was far from an ideal Saturday night entertainment for four guys under thirty (well, mostly), but that’s the situation they were working with currently and, to be frank, Louis wasn’t complaining. 

It was a good day, at least for him. He’s gotten his flat painted, the task he’s been procrastinating since forever, sorted through the documents, freeing up the second nightstand since he had a space for the binders somewhere else, quite late to the party now that Marco was very close to moving out, but well, at least he's done that. Not to mention that in the process of checking off stuff from his to-do list, he was hanging out with people who were _constantly_ nagging him about how they don’t spend enough time together. That’s a win-win situation in his eyes.

Yeah… Marco was leaving him. That was the plan for the next weekend; being real, manly man in flannels, getting the heaps of stuff from Lou’s basement space to his friend’s new flat that thankfully was a short walk away from where the writer lived. He was sure he'd come to miss his mate quicker than he expected to. The feeling was bittersweet. After living together for two months, he came to enjoy the constant companionship more than he didn’t. Sure, there were moments when he’d kill for some solitude, but generally, he wasn't very keen on letting his pal go.

Well, he always knew that this day would come, not totally aware that he was even quickening the move with his act of getting better. Okay, not exactly the act, he was actually good. Of course, there was still some bitterness that lingered in him, surfacing from time to time but he was almost sold on the idea that this one was never going to leave him completely, so he was as good as he was going to get or at least he was nearing that place. 

Getting on each other’s nerves more and more each day, Louis was sure the separation was going to be beneficial for their friendship and the lack of Martha, with whom he was gladly going to part ways, will take quite a load of anxiety off his chest. Maybe after Christmas, he was going to adopt a dog or get himself a fishbowl to keep him company or a boyfriend, maybe he’d get himself a Tinder account or whatever it is that people are using lately. Not now though, too busy for any of that with doing absolutely nothing.

“At last I have some space to put a glass of fucking water." Marco snorted out, looking at the empty night table he was going to have the privilege of using for the week he had left in Lou's apartment, shutting off the light in the bedroom and getting back on the lounge set, joining his friends.

Shielding his mouth from the eyes of his pals, Louis yawned, the exhaustion getting the best of him at one in the morning. It was justified, his inability to suppress a yawn, even with a whole bite of mushed up pizza in his mouth. Having an early morning, so unlike him, the worst of it a straining trip to Homebase that was approximately ten times longer than it needed to be. Having three very indecisive gays fighting over a shade of grey was something he should've seen coming. Hell, he'd be better off going by himself, though hauling buckets of paint without a car sounded absolutely horrible. He finally caved and let his friends pick the shade, not without a fair share of drama, but he should've just gone with his choice, oh well…

Somehow the actual painting was easier than the shopping, but maybe that's because after dividing his flat by four, Johnny's math skills coming very handy for like the first time since they've met, their individual projects were far more manageable than they would’ve been had it was Louis who had to tackle the entire flat. 

After the job was somewhat done, the tidying up left for the next day, they ended up having a cheeky beer or eight… each. Just winding down, taking turns in the shower, annoying Tomlinson’s neighbours even more than they have already but oh well, it’s not like he was the most popular one in the building either way. 

When it was his time, being the good host he was, ending up the last one to hit the shower, Louis emerged from the steamy bathroom to find his living room in a worse state than he remembered it being before. Not only there was an abundance of painting supplies thrown around the place, a huge ball of foil blocking the door, there was also an air mattress on the border of the kitchen, the only place it could’ve been laid with the flat being the absolute mess. 

Only Andy was left in the living room, trying his best to remedy the absolute disarray around them. The other half of the group already headed to the bedroom, apparently too tired to continue their hangout, though that wasn’t unreasonable since it was two in the morning and that day was a long one.

“God, I’m knackered.” Louis complained and tossed the leftover pizza into the fridge, getting through a real obstacle course to get to the couch, where he was going to get his sleep for the night.

With that situation, he could already feel his back aching, but he wasn't going to send his friends away after they've helped him so tremendously, he could manage.

All bundled up on the couch, focused on the rerun of Gogglebox, both him and Andrew fans of some background noise while falling asleep, he struggled to get his brain to calm down, chuckling here and there at the commentary when the time was right. 

It was surprising that he hasn’t shut down the second he hit the pillow, he expected that to be the case but no luck for him. Tossing and turning, possibly annoying the shit out of his friend who still wasn’t asleep, Louis groaned and resorted to a pair of earphones he shoved into his ears and turned on a playlist of those relaxing nature sounds he never really used, so he wasn't sure why the hell he thought they would work for him then. Maybe it was desperation.

Helped would've been a big word to use in his situation, but maybe it made it easier for him to get into the zone. He wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach that state, but finally, he was somewhere around the point of falling asleep, the last leap to take before he finds himself in the land of peace and quiet but then… **FUCK.**

Let’s just say that blaring of his ringtone, directly in his ears, was not the push he needed. Far from that actually, the thing absolutely erased all the effort it took him to get himself to the border he was so violently taken away from.

Aware that he was not the only person trying to fall asleep in the flat, his hand bolted to his phone, silencing the thing as he got up from the couch, bones already cracking from the hour he spent on it. He was already kind of panicking as he opened the balcony and slipped outside to take the call, suspecting an emergency regarding his mother because really, who in the hell would be calling at three in the morning?

That was… not correct. Blinding him from the screen of his phone, was a picture he hasn’t seen in over two months. The rabbit in his heart was betraying the whole ‘over it’ claim he's made repeatedly over the course of the last two weeks, but thankfully, there was nobody there to witness his embarrassment. Well… there was. Only upon sliding his finger to accept the call, no other option in his head, he spotted something they have neglected, hopefully without any major consequences of leaving Martha outside in the somewhat warm weather after putting her there from the lack of space.

Leaning down to look under the insulation Marco used for the terrarium, a weight was taken off his shoulders once he realized the spider was still alive. Louis started thinking that he hasn’t accepted the call since there was nothing on the other end of the line.

There it was. A shaky breath he could make out from the silence proved him that it was more than a butt dial. So, he waited, embarrassingly desperate to get something more than what he's already gotten. 

“ _Hey._ ” A familiar rasp brought the biggest load of heartache those three letters could’ve possibly carried, sending him back on his way down, not that long after he stopped freefalling. 

Struggling to form a response, Louis still had his eyes stuck on Martha. “ _Hi._ ” His voice barely a whisper as he still was so unsure what prompted the call. He would've killed for that 'hey' just a few weeks ago. " _Is that you returning fifty of my calls from September?_ " Louis was surprised when he found himself joking, hopefully encouraging Harry to talk.

He got a laugh, more than he thought he would get from that, though he had absolutely no expectations about that conversation. “ _No._ ” A deep sigh made it through the line. “ _I am very drunk._ ”

And that… made sense. Louis couldn’t be delusional enough to believe that Styles would’ve called him sober. “Good for you, cheers.” He snickered in response. “ _I am very tired._ ” 

“ _Did I wake you up? I didn’t know it’s so late._ ” The perplexity audible in his slurry speech, Louis was just about able to see the blush on his cheeks and… oh God, he shouldn’t have imagined it.

“ _Wasn’t asleep yet._ ” He answered, only partially lying because he didn’t want to summon more of that guilt into Harry’s voice.

“ _Why?_ ” The boy inquired and just about then, Louis started doubting there was any actual agenda to this phone call. “ _What are you doing so late?_ ”

“ _Looking at a spider._ ” Louis answered as if it was the most casual pastime of his. “ _We were painting my flat today._ ” For whatever reason, he decided to share that insignificant event.

“ _What colour?_ ” Barely any interest detectable in the question. Maybe Harry was just as eager to end the conversation as Louis was, which was not at all.

Scrunching his face, trying to remember the name on the can just to get some pointers, he tried to come up with something but was just as good in describing colours now as he always was, if not worse actually, his mind a bit of a scramble. “ _I don’t know that colour_ _… grey, I guess._ ” A frustrated sigh concluded his struggle. 

“ _How big is the spider?_ ” The boy moved to another topic, squeezing everything there was to squeeze from the colour of Lou’s walls.

“ _Huge. Like a hand maybe._ ” With a furrow in his brows, he tried to compare his palm to Martha, still keeping a safe distance.

The soft hum was everything Louis expected to get back from him. Not really sure what to say, he stayed quiet, hoping Harry wasn’t able to make out through the phone his unnaturally heavy breathing. “ _Fisted or flat?_ ”

“ _Flat._ ” Tomlinson still dragged his eyes from his palm to the arachnid, Martha too busy doing her spider things to even bother looking at him.

Thinking that the spider debacle was about to end there, Louis was already thinking of ways to prolong the conversation, of another meaningless topic to move to. Because see, the realization that this was their last call, reached him before he even had a chance to think about that. He was positive that once Harry wakes up in the morning and sees what he’s done, he’ll wipe Lou’s number right away, at least that’s what Tomlinson would do.

It was quite funny, he would’ve never thought that Harry was the kind of person that gets sloshed and calls his exes. What was even more amusing in the whole emotional turmoil Louis found himself in, was the fact that the boy was just rambling about nothing at all like he was just as desperate to hear his old friend's voice as it was the other way around. Let's just say that Louis had quite an advantage in that department, having a whole Spotify catalogue of Harry’s songs to choose from. It wasn’t the same, of course, it wasn’t, but it was _something_ , far more than Harry had which was a few shaky clips he sometimes took of the writer when he least expected being recorded... if he kept those in the first place.

Too busy with his thought process, Louis wasn't aware of how long the silence between them lasted. A long while, that’s for sure. “ _Mine or yours?_ ” Harry’s voice finally snapped him away from his pondering.

It took him longer than he would like to admit, to remember what were his last words, providing some context to the question he’s heard before, not in that setting though. He caught it finally. “ _Mine, thank God._ ” A shiver travelled down his spine once he realized that there probably existed spiders the size of Harry’s hand. 

Covering the terrarium with the insulation, Harry’s call more than likely saving the tarantula’s life, he settled himself, cross-legged on the pillow he had thrown onto the floor for when he goes out for a cigarette, secretly hoping for the call to last long enough, so he doesn't have to get up disappointed right away. 

Speaking of… he grabbed the pack of cigarettes from under the pillow, catching a fag between his lips, clumsily lighting it up, relishing in a first drag that paradoxically enough, felt like the first proper breath he took in a while.

“ _Your hands aren’t huge._ ” The brunette observed. 

The remark elicited a scoff out of him. Well, yeah, they weren't the biggest, but Harry's outlook was clouded by his preposterously big ones. “ _Rude._ ” He wished the boy could’ve seen the outrage in his face. Perhaps he brought it back from his memory, seeing that one so many times.

“ _It’s not rude if it’s a fact._ ” Styles argued, a loud thud emerging on the other side of the line. “ _I’ve never said there was something wrong in you being dainty._ ” He continued, not addressing the unexpected commotion he most likely caused.

Well, sure… But saying that he never complained about the writer’s size was quite an understatement with the borderline fetishizing of the sight of Tomlinson drowning in the clothes he kept borrowing him. Unwillingly, Louis ended up smiling at the memory, searching around himself for something he thought he remembered tossing to the balcony.

There it was. Pressed to the railing, a black bin bag he immediately ripped into, tugging out the cashmere sweater he avoided for a bigger chunk of the two months. Putting the half-done cigarette onto the tiles, he slipped his hands into the sleeves of the cheetah print sweater, only then realizing that it was quite a few degrees too chilly to hang out outside in a tee and boxers. Well, it wasn't a surprise for November, but his fastened heartrate made a good job of concealing the temperature. 

It wasn't good for his progress, he knew that, though he surely couldn't have done more damage than Harry's phone call has. Engulfed in softness, he put the cigarette back into his mouth, leaning back, the ribs of the railing digging into his back just a bit less, softened by the material. “ _It’s still big for a spider._ ” His shoulders shrugged just like they would if the two of them were in the room together.

“ _How did it get into your apartment?_ ” 

Well, yeah… he should’ve started with that information. Harry either thought he was being overdramatic or in serious danger of dying from a wild animal, though by the sound of his voice he could assume that there wasn’t a lot of clear thinking going on in his head. “ _It’s Marco’s pet._ ” 

“ _I’ve done something very stupid._ ” Harry whispered into the phone in a tone indicative of an embarrassing confession somewhere close in the future. 

“ _Oh God, what have you done?_ ” Having some of Harry’s stupid ideas in his memory, Louis started getting curious, maybe just a bit scared. He waited for the response, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs. 

“ _You’re smoking._ ” The singer ignored the question, impressing Louis with how observant he turned out to be, even in the intoxicated state.

" _Yeah._ " Lou sighed, knowing that Harry wasn't approving of the habit. But really, what difference did it make anyway? It was none of his business anymore. " _Picked it up when you_ _…_ ” 

A soft gasp came through the line, cutting Louis off. “ _Oh._ ” Harry acknowledged their parting with only that. “ _I’ve bleached my hair._ ”

Louis was… speechless, vividly remembering the last time the boy tried to do that. Here he was, thinking that he persuaded the boy away from that stupid idea. “ _Oh no, Haz_ _…_ ” He groaned. The affectionate nickname slipped before he had the chance to catch it. “ _Why would you do that?_ ”

“ _To spite you._ ” He admitted in a sigh. “ _I know it’s idiotic, you don’t need to tell me that._ ” 

“ _Wasn’t going to._ ” Louis shook his head, smashing the tip of his cigarette on the tile, tossing it to the side. “ _I still don’t think that was a good idea because_ _…_ ”

“ _You don’t care, I know._ ” Harry cut him off, a pained tone to his words. “ _I’m aware that you don’t and you never did but I just_ _… I don’t know._ ” Frustration reached Louis’ ears. Harry’s way of talking very reminiscent of the time when they’ve just met and that… stung, because it only meant that he was uncomfortable speaking to him. He never wanted that, to be quite frank, he hated that. “ _Maybe I thought you’d see it and don’t see me as this fucking loser that fell right into your trap. It doesn’t even make sense._ ”

" _You're right, it doesn't._ " Louis admitted, possibly never feeling as bad about himself as he did at that moment. All the days he spent dwelling in his sadness, the one which he, mind you that, brought onto himself, and rarely has it ever occurred to him that there was another person on the other end of the relationship he destroyed with his conniving. 

The worst thing was that he couldn't even blame any of it on Harry. There was nothing the boy has done wrong. Sure, maybe his eagerness towards commitment was a tad naïve, especially by the start of their relationship, but that was something that Harry just was, he couldn't blame him for it as much as he couldn't be condemned for his initial emotional unavailability, both aware of one another's flaws upon getting involved with each other.

So… there he was, a fucking asshole who was responsible for whatever it was that Harry was going through, over two months after they’ve seen each other for the last time. It was stupid because with the boy being so open about his emotional side, not embarrassed to show vulnerability, he should’ve seen this coming but didn’t. Maybe it was just his self-consciousness that dictated him that there was no way anything Harry felt for him was quite this serious because, well… it was just _him._

“ _Yeah_ _…_ ” The boy summoned him back into the conversation. “ _I probably shouldn’t be thinking about this as much as I do._ ” A sigh concluded the heavy declaration.

Louis would’ve chuckled at how relatable it was if it wouldn’t sound odd in that point in their conversation. “ _Is that why you’ve called?_ ” He inquired. “ _Thinking it would make me mad that you’ve ruined your hair?_ ”

" _Maybe._ " A sound that Louis was pretty sure was creaking of some furniture, reached the writer's ears. " _I should've thought this through more than I did._ " A bitter chuckle, so ill-fitting, travelled through the line. “ _I don’t know what made me think you’d give a fuck if I offed myself, not to mention dying my hair._ ”

Without permission, Louis whined at the words, rushing with the answer just to show that there was no hesitancy in his words. “ _Don’t say that._ ” His voice stern, scolding the brunette… blonde (???) for even thinking like that. 

“ _Why? Isn’t that the truth?_ ” Harry’s voice just as decided as Louis’. That was unsettling, to say the very least.

“ _I’ve told you that it’s not._ ” He argued. “ _Maybe my words don’t mean much to you, which I am only one to blame for but fuck, Harry_ _…_ ” The boy’s name posed a challenge to voice, especially considering the grim tone their conversation had adapted. “ _Don’t you_ _ever_ _…_ " The threat broke where his voice did, the pathetic display he put on in front of a boy who hopefully wasn’t going to remember their conversation in the morning.

Fucking hell, this was not good. It was horrible, to be honest. With head between his thighs, Louis started crumbling again. What he thought to be a blessing in a shape of really meaningless chat with drunk Harry, turned into something so much more than he bargained for. He was just in the middle of pondering why in the hell did Styles think he needed to hear all of that, his mental state compromised by that little talk they were having. Only then, he realized that it's been a recurring theme where he never thought about what it was that Harry needed. Perhaps that was what the boy wanted to lay off his chest.

He couldn’t blame him, especially knowing that there probably wasn’t a lot of people he could’ve shared their story with. _Full story._ Being the one responsible for this mess, he just took a deep breath and started thinking about what he could’ve said to make Harry feel better.

There wasn’t a lot of time to do that though, as Harry spoke just a few seconds later. “I look horrible.” He fully omitted Louis’ words. “ _They’re going to murder me._ ”

" _They are not._ " Tomlinson scoffed as a means to brighten up the atmosphere just a bit. " _Just make sure you're driving your own car, and the brakes work before you head out_."

“ _I’ll do that, yeah._ ” He chuckled. “ _I look like a bloody pumpkin!_ ” The visual provided by the boy worked better than anything else, the two of them laughing in unison.

Well… he didn’t want to be _that_ guy, but Styles really asked for it. “ _I’ve told you that it would happen._ ” His observation met with a sigh on the other end. “ _Where are you anyway?_ ”

“ _Home._ ” The answer wouldn’t have been nearly as obvious if it wasn’t for a conversation they’ve had a while back. Louis still remembered Harry saying that he sometimes feels borderline homeless, as preposterous as this sounded with all the real estate he possessed, but without anything to keep him in one place, he felt exactly like that. As he admitted, London was as close as he got to calling a place 'home' since he moved out of his hometown.

And, oh… He shouldn’t have asked that. Okay, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the information that Harry was currently like half an hour from where he is but that fact settled in a heavy weight in his gut. “Just go to sleep, call somebody in the morning. I’m sure they will get that sorted for you.”

“ _I’ve ruined it._ ” A deep chuckle vibrated against Lou’s ear. “ _They will shave it off._ ”

“ _They won’t._ ” Louis knew better than to believe that anybody on Harry’s team would allow shaving his hair. “ _You’re fine._ ”

With a stretch of silence longer than before, Louis was pretty sure that it was all he was getting from Harry. Still, he couldn’t complain, already through more than he would’ve ever expected to be graced with. 

But then, there was something else. “ _I’m sorry._ ” The boy rasped out, the weight of this apology not matching the hair chat.

“ _For what?_ ” He struggled not to sound amused with the mystery. Straightening the leg that managed to fall asleep, he ended up kicking a leg of the table Martha was set atop of. 

“ _I shouldn’t have called you, should I?_ ” His tone indicative of the fact that he already knew the answer.

See… that was up for debate. If Louis from an hour ago was asked that question, he would, almost without hesitation, say that Harry, indeed, shouldn’t have. But now that he had the chance to have this… truly bizarre chat with him, he was pretty positive this was the best thing that happened to him in two months. “ _Depends on who you ask._ ” He ended up responding, not putting much thought in those words.

The consequence of his untamed tongue came right away in a question. “ _What does that mean?_ ”

“ _It’s just_ _… eh, that’s not important._ ” Louis begged the gods that Harry lets him off the hook with that one, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough back in the day.

Thankfully, well… not thankfully, not at all, this time it worked. “ _I should go to sleep_.” Harry declared in a sigh.

Not fully aware of what time it was, Louis agreed, fighting his own eyelids that fell closed without him prompting them to. " _Yeah, it's late._ "

“ _Okay._ ”

And then… he was gone, and it hurt almost as much as it did in September because… that was the first thing he’s gotten in two months and now that he heard his voice, after so many weeks of denying Harry’s existence, he realized that perhaps he wasn’t as over as he thought he was…

Without anything keeping him on the balcony, he got up from the floor, cracking his bones before he, very carefully, grabbed the terrarium and _tried_ not to think what he was carrying as he moved Martha inside, plugging her equipment to the outlet and whispering apologies for the negligence that hopefully wasn’t going to result in anything serious. He still was very reserved towards his friend’s pet, but it didn’t mean he wanted it dead.

Padding his way to the couch, he slipped under the covers, trying very hard to find a comfortable position, knowing that it was pretty much impossible on that particular piece of furniture. Giving up with a sigh, he pressed his face into the pillow, already aware that the phone call was enough to fully trash his chances of getting a quality rest that night…

-

Squirming on the couch with his legs thrown over the armrest, dangling free past his knees, Louis released a discontent groan in reaction to Johnny’s fingers that travelled up and down his face. 

“How is your skin so clear? That’s not even fair.” The friend commented, still pinching his skin in between carefully trimmed fingernails.

“This is so unnecessary, ouch!” Louis kicked his leg and exploited the fact that the man above him got distracted with soaking a cotton pad with disinfectant, sitting up so he couldn’t be rendered to some beauty school practice dummy or whatever. 

Seeing that he’s not completely off the hook yet, he stood up, making his way towards the kitchen island, from where he grabbed himself an apple. He felt all the eyes glued to his back and almost snarled at his friends since they had quite a lot on their hands with tidying up after the painting but were slacking, though he couldn’t really blame them as he wasn’t exactly doing a lot of work himself at the moment.

Well… he was excused, kind of. The chat he had with Harry hasn't gone unnoticed by Andy. Apparently, the creak in between balcony door let in more of Lou’s voice than he would’ve predicted it to. And let’s just say that it hasn’t helped that Louis was the last one to wake up, therefore being caught wearing Harry’s sweater to bed by everybody that was there to see it.

There was no use lying when Drew asked who was he talking to so late. With the only other option for the late-night call being his mother’s medical emergency, it didn’t seem right. So, he admitted, which wasn’t maybe too bad since he needed insight from his pals about the idea that with how dumb it sounded in Lou’s head, seduced him very strongly from the moment he came up with it.

He had quite a while to think about it, that was one of those well thought out decisions that considering Lou's impetuosity, were a rarity. Just as he predicted, the night turned out to be a full-on festival of tossing and turning, until he finally gave up on the idea of ever going to sleep. Well, he finally did, but the sun was out already, soothing voice of somebody's grandma lulling him to sleep from the cooking video he stumbled upon on YouTube. With the three hours of sheer struggle and every second since he woke up, he had more time to make up his mind about what he was planning to do. 

It should’ve been obvious from the moment he learned that Harry was in London, that he wouldn’t be able to leave that information alone. Maybe it was his intention at first, then he could lie to himself that it was, but hearing Harry so explicitly saying the things Tomlinson already kind of knew he was probably thinking… no, he just couldn’t let it go like that. Not when he had a chance to make it known that he would, very much, care if Harry died or if anything bad happened to him in general.

Sure, it could’ve been just Styles talking out of his ass, the intoxicated state more than likely putting idiotic thoughts into his head but if there was a chance that the boy, on the daily, was pondering over the credibility of their ended relationship, he was going to dispel all the doubt that might have still lingered in that head of Harry’s. He wasn’t sure yet how exactly he was going to do that, but he knew that he had to take the chance he had and use it.

That’s when his friends decided to go full-on _“Dumb and Dumber”_ on him, insisting that he _needed_ a makeover and yeah, they were probably right to some extent but then, the reasoning they provided with ‘making Harry see what he’s missing’ was barely any kind of fitting in their situation. Still, it got him out of cleaning, so he was quite chuffed about that, his friends taking turns on salvaging anything from the rugged look he was sporting, truly deserving of a homeless man.

Not only he was excused from cleaning of his own, mind you that, apartment, he also got a free haircut with kitchen shears from Andy who apparently had more experience in hairdressing than any of his friends would’ve predicted. Sure, getting his skin in check, something that Johnny insisted was vital, wasn’t exactly as pleasurable but he laid on the couch to have blackheads squeezed out of his nose instead of doing actual work without any hesitation. 

It was over though, he was done with the bullshit and pressing questions from his friends, most of them focusing on what he was going to tell Harry, if he actually manages to get ahold of him, of course. The constant nagging for answers even more irritating when he realized that he had no idea. As of now, he could only rule out parading into a room and declaring undying love because as theatrical and impactful as it would've been, it wasn't really an option any of them would've benefitted from. Apart from that, he was quite clueless, hopefully, able to come up with something in the next… however much hours he had left before showtime.

Wiping apple juice from his chin, using his already ruined tee to do that, Louis tossed the core into the bin, rinsing his hands with water so he could get back to work, maybe a bit guilty that he wasn’t helping. Just a bit though, his pals getting rid of most of the feeling with being annoying fuckers who kept shoving their noses in his private business. That was harsh, but true, unfortunately. 

“Still alive?” Louis pretended to be extremely disappointed seeing Marco's spider moving in its enclosure, where in reality, that act was quite a distance from the truth. Maybe he got just a little bit used to the thing, and now that it was getting the fuck out of his flat in a week, there was really no reason for him to wish death on Martha.

He only got a shake of Marco’s head in return, the boy still beating himself over the fact that he forgot to move the terrarium inside before he went to sleep which was quite stupid in Lou's eyes but whatever, maybe his friend liked to torture himself with things that didn't matter that much. It would've been justified if the pet had died, but it didn't, the warm night a very lucky coincidence that more than likely saved its life.

Trotting his way towards the door, Louis opened it and muttered a greeting to a delivery driver who knocked just a few seconds prior. He made quick work of getting the food, sending the guy on his merry way down the stairs, elevator out of order which was just a godsent really, no better time for that then one weekend when it was quite vital with all the rubbish they had to get out. Oh well, it was just his luck.

“Three maybe, I don’t know.” Exasperated by three sets of eyes stuck on him, pressing for a review, he provided what was expected of him. It was quite funny because if that guy was a three, he, even in his freshly groomed state, must’ve fallen below zero. 

Not pondering longer over the stupid game they really should’ve let go years ago, he set the takeout bag on the coffee table, fetching himself a fork since he wasn’t even going to try to put his impeccable chopstick skills on display when he had an alternative. 

When he got back to the table, his mates already divided the boxes of Chinese between each other, Marco sat stuffing his face with egg rolls. 

“If that was a three, I would like to know who is a ten in your eyes.” Johnny scoffed, chasing his words with a dumpling, struggling to chew through the sticky dough of questionable quality.

Louis could already see that Andy was praying for just a bit of silence, so he could chip in with a remark he had on the tip of his tongue, only needing an extra second to swallow his food. “Do we really have to ask?” He succeeded, sending a sickening smirk Louis’ way.

Unbothered, Tomlinson opened his box and dug into the stir fry he ordered for himself, thinking that one could not go wrong with one of these. Well, he made that claim a bit too early, that particular batch proving quite challenging to swallow with the duck being a bit dry, nothing a glass of water couldn’t remedy though.

Four hours and two more complaints from a neighbour that simply couldn’t bear God’s day being interrupted by clattering a floor above, and they were finished with work, Louis’ apartment looking rather presentable, still not yet back to the usual but close, a great improvement from the mess that it was just a few hours ago.

Johnny had left them a while ago, having a tea scheduled with his parents, just as he always used to on Sundays, lucky bastard having his folks so close. The three of them laid sprawled on whatever flat space they could’ve fit themselves on, poor Andrew laying on the floor with his head on a pillow since there was really nothing else that could’ve accommodated his preposterously long silhouette. 

“I would let this man do unspeakable things to me.” Andy sighed out, dreaming out loud of his love story with Tommy Shelby that graced their eyes with his delightful looks. “You should get me a date with him, I think I deserve that for putting up with your bullshit for so long.” He remarked, not taking his eyes off the screen, devouring every second of the actor’s screentime.

Louis scoffed, reaching for his phone as the device dinged a minute or so ago, announcing another text from his mother. “And how exactly would I go about arranging that?” His words showing absolutely no interest, thumbs busy tapping out a little update that everything was fine in his life, promising shots of his refreshed apartment once he gets up tomorrow.

“Harry knows him, doesn’t he?”

He hasn’t thought about that actually, the memory of watching the one movie Harry’s done, rushing back to his head… “I presume he does.” A shrug concluded his words. “Though we’re far from calling each other for favours at the moment.”

“Isn’t he married?” Marco chimed in, shoving a fistful of Mini Cheddars into his mouth.

A deep sigh broke out where Andrew was laying, still not looking away from the TV. “I’m only asking for one night. You could mention that when you get to see him tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Tomlinson reassured his friend, chuckling at the thought that a wife was apparently the only obstacle in that love story. “One date with… whatever his name is.” This one it was him who sighed, the realization how little time he had left to figure out what to tell Harry, fully curbing his cheery mood. 

“What are you going to tell him?” Marco inquired, not even fully out from the bathroom, wet feet leaving a trail with every step he took.

As thankful as Louis was that he waited to ask till there’s only the two of them left, he still had absolutely no idea how to answer that question. “I wish I knew.” The exasperated sigh flawlessly conveying his frustration. 

It was one in the morning, and he was still at the same point he was once he decided to visit Harry. He thought the day he gave the boy to recover from the hangover he was bound to suffer from was enough to get something sorted, but he used up the majority of his time and still had absolutely nothing prepared.

Annoyed, that’s what he was. There was really no possibility to abandon the plan, already set on following through no matter if he was going to be ready or will just have to wing it. Too many things he hasn’t said that Harry needed to hear for him to cop out of that plan. See, it was a time he stops thinking about himself only and takes into consideration that he was not the only one in their relationship. He was decided on pushing through the undoubtedly awkward situation he was going to land in, his anxiety nothing in comparison with the guilt Harry’s words sparked in him.

Thankfully enough, Marco picked up on the fact that Louis wasn’t in a mood to chat, giving him much-needed space as he silently roamed around the flat, collecting some bits and pieces that were still scattered and putting them in their rightful place, doing the last of the tidying up even if he probably should've gone to bed, get some rest before the early shift.

There was this theory that Tomlinson came up with when he was doing particularly bad mentally. The idea being that Marco kind of tailored his bedtime to Louis' wellbeing. It wasn't really speculation anymore, the friend too obvious in his doing to consider that a theory. 

Either way, he must’ve radiated some serious unpleasant vibes at the moment, having his mate so obviously stalling, doing virtually nothing while still keeping an eye on Louis. “Go to sleep, mate. I am fine.” He finally urged, too guilty to keep his roommate waiting. “Gonna head to the bed soon.” There was no certainty whether he was going to keep his word, but it seemed to have helped, so it was fine. Marco padded his way into the bedroom, Louis leaving the living room pretty much immediately, his ass back on his smoking pillow. 

Still dressed in the sweater he picked up just a night prior, taking it off only when cleaning up, he let himself wind down with a fag perched nonchalantly between his lips, sucking in the poison like his life depended on it. Maybe it did, who knew. 

Looking down at the cars making their way up the street perpendicular to his one, he let his mind shut down for a minute or two. That’s what he needed. A reboot. What he didn’t need though, was the doubt that took over once the cigarette was put down, the last of the smoke expelled with a loud exhale.

Considering the weather, the outside considerably colder than just a day prior, he overstayed that cigarette break. He thought he was comfortable though, or maybe he convinced himself that he was warm, too busy pondering whether his plan wasn't going to make matters worse for both of the sides involved. Sure, there was a huge leap he was going to take back to the starting point, one of those already taken when he decided to answer Harry’s call last night but somehow… it felt worth it. 

He only had to think of what to say before he goes there, knowing well enough that it was the only opportunity he was going to get ( _if_ he was even going to get that one), wasting it on stuttering and incoherent gibberish was absolutely not something he could let himself to do.

His balcony hangout only came to an end when he felt his toes get stiff, cold licks of the wind fully ignored by his brain that had far more important things to get through then. With half-assed brushing of his teeth, Louis snuck into the bedroom quite a while later than he was supposed to and as silently as he could, slid himself under the cover, pushing it off his top half since the sweater was doing a good enough of a job of keeping him warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm sorry if I let some mistakes or crimes against grammar slip. I've already started working on a new project it's taking up pretty much all of my time, so I admit, the proofreading might have been a bit rushed. I just wanted to get this one up today, I'll do more in-depth proofing when the excitement from starting a new story wears off and I don't write as much. Hope it's alright :)


	31. Chapter 31

“What the fuck are you doing, Tomlinson?” Louis was crooning to his reflection in the mirror, trying to distract himself from everything that was going on in his head because… shit, that was overwhelming. At least he was alone, nobody there to see him fidgeting with his hair for longer than it was appropriate, picking up each strand and placing it in in seemingly random places that, in reality, were more thought out than they should’ve been.

He was planning to leave more than an hour ago. Not that there was a time set for the meeting that one of the sides wasn't even aware of, but he had a bit of a timeline he worked out when he was doing everything _but_ pondering over what he was supposed to say to Harry if he gets a chance. It wouldn't be shocking if he got kicked out, of course if he gets far enough for that to happen. 

Maybe it would be better if he was. He could still claim that he tried to come clean and not have to _actually_ do that, which really would be the ideal outcome. 

Trying to stay positive, quite a challenge in itself, he gulped a whole jar of water, his unnatural thirst hardly quenched but he stopped right around there, pissing himself on his way far from something he strived for.

With that out of the way, the time has come for him to leave, even if that was the last thing he actually wanted to do. Locking the door, engaging in a nightmare of small talk with a neighbour, he took a turn to the stairs, opting out of the lift solely for the sake of escaping the chat that he would’ve hated on a normal day, not to mention now.

The rain was more severe than he expected it to be, far too much for his jacket to handle. Unwilling to arrive looking like a wet dog, even if it would give him some extra points in visual department, at least that’s what always happened in rom-coms, he decided to take the public transport, significantly cutting the time he thought he had till showtime. Getting increasingly more annoyed with the hubbub around him, too exhausting after weeks of staying inside, he shoved earbuds into his ears. In a sudden rush of questionable genius, he typed Harry’s name into the Spotify search bar and clicked shuffle.

He was lucky in a sense that he landed on one of those songs that were played to death in the radio, the one he had stumbled upon a few times already since he messed things up with Harry. Even with that fact, it was still heavy. Fair, it would've been incomparably worse if they haven't had the conversation from two days ago, but it still wasn't easy. At least he could prepare himself for what's hopefully (or not) yet to come. Let's just say that getting emotionally triggered on a bus, where nobody was paying attention to him, was far better than doing that face-to-face with Harry.

The setting was oddly fitting as he was staring out of the window, watching raindrops racing down the sheet of glass, Harry’s debut single blasting into his eardrums. To be fair, the weather favoured this kind of melancholic vibes throughout the bigger part of the year, but it still was convenient for his little display of self-pitying. 

He didn’t know how in the hell he thought he was going to be able to execute his plan. Initially, he was quite a cocky one, thinking that he’s going to strut into the room and lay it all down for Harry as if the last two months haven’t happened and the boy was a casual acquaintance from school or whatever. 

That obviously wasn’t the case. The task he set for himself grew significantly harder once he realized that the more or less identified feelings he had for Harry haven’t abandoned him as much as they kind of subsided due to him no thinking about the boy too much. Let’s just say that the phone call was everything he needed to get that story straight. 

What was there left for him to do? He could either struggle through his plan or chicken out, which with him being as far as he was already, seemed like the dumbest idea ever but that was kind of a theme in his life at the moment, the plan to actually visit Harry was a perfect example of that.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.” He chanted under his nose, trying to keep quiet because well… somehow he ended up succeeding and now was standing by the entrance of Harry’s house, actually inside and waiting for the maid to get back to him whether the boy was going to see him or not.

He didn't know that person. Being in that house maybe twice, he had barely any time to get acquainted with the staff and whatnot. The woman hasn't even asked for his name, which worked to his advantage but still was a negligence in security department that shouldn't have happened, especially in Harry's residence. Maybe he should mention that to the boy when, well... _if_ he gets to have a word with him.

It felt like he was waiting for hours when in reality, it was barely two minutes (yes, he was staring at the clock on the screen of his phone like a maniac). Louis was… an idiot, that’s what he was. WHAT WAS HE THINKING, HONESTLY?! There was not even a promise that he’s going to see him in the first place and he was already panicking. 

Maybe it was better that he hasn’t thought about anything to say because that would be a total waste of time, every thought wiped out as soon as he stopped in front of the gate but then, it’s not like he was doing something productive instead of thinking what to say so… yeah.

Tapping his shoed foot on the tiled floor, arms crossed on his chest, Louis’ gaze jumped towards the staircase where the familiar woman was leaning over the railing. “Mister Styles will see you now.”

He would’ve scoffed at the title that Harry couldn’t possibly have approved of if he wasn’t pissing his pants right around then. So… he made it, it worked just as he hoped it would… sort of, but now that he had clearance, he wasn't so sure about the plan anymore. 

Bolting out of the place wasn’t really a viable option right now, so all there was left for him to do, was to kick his wet shoes off and play along. That’s what he did. 

Of course, he ended up embarrassing himself with how out of breath he got, but that was close to the bottom of the list of his biggest concerns at the moment. With a hardly sincere smile, he thanked the woman for assistance and was left alone to fend for himself in front of the door that was the only thing separating him and Harry. 

Not ready to commit just yet, he pushed his trembling hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaned on the wall, sighing deeply to collect his thoughts. It hasn’t helped. He was sweating, still not taking his coat off because he wasn’t sure whether he should bother with that. 

Deciding that the procrastinating only resulted in him panicking even more, he decided to go for it. Fixing his fringe, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled it, pushing the door away from himself to find himself in an office of sorts.

There he was… Looking like some fucking CEO of the whole world on his upholstered leather chair. After a few seconds, more for the reaction to seem organic, he lifted his head from above the book he was studying. It was quite shocking that his expression barely twitched once he laid his eyes on Louis.

While Tomlinson was losing his mind by the door, the other guy couldn’t have looked less surprised, only the deep groove in between his eyebrows betraying his act.

In one of the romcoms he watched with his mother, Louis remembered hearing a 'rule', that struck from the deepest archives of the useless facts one was bound to gather throughout their lives. It was idiotic that this was the only thing he could think of, now that he found himself under the scrutiny of Harry's gaze, but at the moment, he was stripped out of all the control he had over his brain. 

Either way, the rule said that if a person was maintaining eye contact for quite as long as Harry was, they either want to fuck you or wrap their fingers around your neck and look you in the eyes as the spirit leaves your body. He knew what it was in his case. Sure, maybe fucking Harry was a bit extreme at the moment, right around then focused on how glad he was to even have the chance to see that boy, but Styles’ motive stayed a mystery.

Standing in the doorway, he looked at the host who sat sprawled behind the desk, very intimidating with the stern look on his face; eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed in a tight line. His immaculate manners forgotten when he failed to stand up, or maybe he decided that Louis wasn’t worthy of his courtesy. Fair enough. Tomlinson knew better than to believe that faux composure, quite an act with Harry’s silhouette slumped in the chair, arms crossed on the chest. 

Louis was surprised how quickly he was able to spot all the little things that changed in Harry’s appearance. He grew out his facial hair again, though that was one of the more obvious changes to notice. The writer would bet some serious money that he was thinner than he remembered him being. It was yet to be decided whether it was good thinner or bad thinner, he kind of doubted that it was a good change… there really was no way for Harry’s body to get any better than it was in September. 

His hair was darker now, but he would’ve more than likely overlooked the slightest change in tone had he not known about the boy’s little bleaching adventure. The dark brown of his shiny locks was just the tiniest bit warmer than it was naturally, the condition of the hair far exceeding all the expectations Louis had after hearing about what happened just two days ago. He couldn’t help but wonder how many hours it took to reanimate the orange mop of fried curls that he couldn’t even imagine sitting atop Styles’ head at the moment, even if he knew that not even forty-eight hours ago, it was there.

At this point, they went two and a half months without seeing each other, Louis' fingertips tingling. His own body was betraying him, so explicitly showing how desperate he was just to touch as if he wasn't aware of that already. Let's just say that he didn't need a second opinion when his thoughts told everything there was to tell about his eagerness to take everything the boy was willing to give him.

They were still stuck in the silent staring contest, undoubtedly the most awkward they’ve ever felt around each other. Seconds were piling on top of each other, stretching to preposterous lengths of silence as both of them refused to be the first one to speak, to instigate anything. 

Louis could’ve sworn he saw similar yearning in Harry’s eyes, the pools of green unmatching the determined expression on his face. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see, he couldn’t rule out his brain making shit up at this very vulnerable moment. 

Nobody has said anything yet, Louis staying just as quiet as Harry, even if he desperately wanted to hear brunette’s voice. The memory of the chat with drunk Harry already fuzzy mess faded with barely any time that had passed since then, not to mention that those slurry whispers were barely Harry, to begin with.

He wasn't sure what he expected from the visit. For starters, in what world has he thought he would get through it without speaking a word? His dumb behaviour was entirely on Harry, the boy’s frosty demeanour making it feel like some kind of sick game that is lost once one of them speaks. Of course, he didn’t want to lose. It was clear as the day that neither did Styles, and if he knew anything about that boy, it was that he was stubborn.

Sure, Louis was too, but after all, it was he who came to Harry, not the other way around. If he wanted to tell the boy all the things he had to say, the exact wording not yet decided, it was sort of vital for him to speak. He wasn't expecting a lot from the meeting, his barely-there confidence decreasing significantly throughout the straining staring contest, but he knew he just couldn't leave without saying something. He already came as far, he had to use the only opportunity he had to come clean. 

With the thoughts running through his head, his own belief into the claim that he was doing this solely for the sake of Harry, was fading into nothing. Maybe he needed that as much as Styles did. Perhaps he needed it more, now that he thought about it. One way or another, it was bound to be him who speaks first and ends the stretch of silence, the first one to break.

Losing the imaginary competition was the least he could do, being the one responsible for them being… like that. He could see Harry getting impatient, nibbling on his bottom lip with that unrelenting look glued to his face, fingers fidgeting on the edge of the desk, making Louis think weather the boy was just as eager to touch him as it was the other way around, though Harry’s motivation for that touch was still undecided. Maybe he wanted to feel the familiar skin under his fingertips as he cupped Lou’s face in a kiss, maybe he wanted to feel it as he strangled the writer with his bare hands, his freakishly long fingers a big advantage in that case, easily able to wrap around Lou’s neck if it was the intention. With ten weeks of despair, more yet to come, Louis was fine with either, really.

The silence started taking a toll on the guest’s sanity, the man shifting the weight of his body on the other leg when the first one started aching. “Hey.” Approximately thousand minutes after he arrived, Louis finally struggled the greeting, surprising the brunette by giving up the fight. “I don’t really know how to explain why I am here.”

Something softened in Harry's expression, the groove still in between his eyebrows but not as deep as previously. It looked like he was in the midst of one of those sessions where goes deep into his head and searches for words, the look on his face eerily reminiscent of the first week of their acquaintance. Louis wouldn't call the occurrence unexpected, but it threw him off a little bit.

And there it was, the saviour in a shape of a disjointed hand Tomlinson imagined on the other side of the door, knocking three times, pulling the two of them out of that weird place they’ve found themselves in. 

“Come in.” Harry finally spoke, several notches less startled than his guest. 

Obeying that cue, the same woman who led Louis into the office, peeked through the gap in the door. Tomlinson moved to the side, his eyes darting behind Harry’s employee who had a short, lanky man behind herself. “Your three pm is here.” The lady announced as the second guest stood still with a file tucked under his arm.

From the puzzled look the woman gave Louis, he could kind of suspect that he owed the success of his mission to a lucky coincidence that Harry was expecting somebody else. It must've been confusion that made his plan so easy to execute.

“Of course.” This time, Harry stood up and rounded his desk, inviting the stranger in with a gesture of a hand, which then engaged in a firm handshake. “Olivia, would you be a sweetheart and take Louis to the living room?” 

It kind of stung that he got the same amount of attention as a fucking lamp would. Sure, he might have deserved some of that, but he hasn't been nearly as cold when he was called in the middle of the night! What made it even worse, was the contrast between Styles' behaviour towards Louis and… whoever the other guy was. 

Well, at least he wasn’t being kicked out yet. “I’ll make it downstairs as soon as I’m done here. Haven’t expected the… traffic." Harry chuckled nervously, his wording ambiguous enough for Louis to hope that he was the addressee. And he was going to assume it was the case, solely for his own sanity.

It was refreshing to hear Harry’s voice from up close, barely any distance between the two of them before Styles invited the new guest inside, with his hand urging him into the second chair, the one he hasn’t invited Louis to.

Feeling a bit relieved that there was something more yet to come, paradoxically enough more anxious with that realization at the same time, he let the middle-aged woman lead him out of the study, closing the door with a silent click after he found himself back in the corridor. 

“Would you like something to drink, mister…” The question hung in the air of the living room Louis was somewhat familiar with. 

He scoffed at the way he was addressed, the woman was clearly waiting for him to introduce himself properly, but there was no necessity to do that. "It's just Louis." A very obviously forced chuckle struggled past his closed throat. “I’ll pass on the drink, thanks.” With a caricature of a smile, he watched the woman walk away, muttering some pleasantries to the man who really wanted to be left alone at the moment.

Maybe it was good that he got the unexpected intermission. However long that was going to last, he could use some extra time to ponder over some things he failed to think of previously. There were also the things that he had thought about but vanished out of his head as soon as his eyes fell on Harry's face. Now, with the initial reaction to seeing the boy after such a break in the past, he thought he was going to get another try at working through his racing thoughts.

When Harry left… in September, he worked out a million of scenarios how he could steer this conversation. Somewhere along the way fully tossing all the scripts out because… well, he never intended to use any of the material he prepared. It was pathetic of him to think that some dramatic rom-com worthy confession was going to erase all the shit he's done. Real life doesn't work that way, and he was aware of that, that's why he stopped wasting time creating scenarios that were never going to happen. 

The thing was… He never planned to have the chance to have this one last conversation with Harry. The atmosphere of their last encounter clearly enough stating that he wasn’t welcome in the boy’s life anymore, not that he could blame him for that. And even if Harry hasn’t explicitly told Louis not to seek contact, the writer was intelligent enough to know not to call, not to text, even if fingers were itching him to do exactly that. When it got particularly hard to bear the weight of the fate he brought onto himself, Louis sometimes found himself typing out an apology without even realizing that he was doing that.

It was really quite unfortunate that he couldn't even recall any of the dozens of messages that he wrote in a daze and erased once he regained control over himself. If something was going to succeed, that raw and authentic approach he took with those unsent texts, his fingers propelled by pure emotion and the desperation to get Harry back, was his best bet.

“Good?” Louis jumped in his seat, startled by the familiar voice behind his head, his neck twisting instantly, eyes snapping to Harry who stood maybe three feet away from him, the distance between them still bigger than he was used to.

Chewing through a bite of a cookie he snatched from a bowl sitting on the coffee table, he swallowed thickly, slightly abashed with the fact that perhaps he got a bit too comfortable. “Yeah.” He admitted, looking back at the loaf and realizing that maybe he got through more than he thought he has. “Sorry.” With a coy smirk, he looked back at Harry, uncertain of their next step.

“Is it alright if we go upstairs?” The host took the lead, his demeanour significantly less reserved than it was previously. 

Tomlinson hasn’t answered, only picked up his jacket from the couch and followed Harry upstairs.

"You've cut your hair." The brunette observed out of nowhere once they've settled themselves in Harry's study. Maybe it was a means to cut the silence, Louis taking his sweet time observing the panelled wall that was full of various plaques for Harry's musical achievements, an impressive display of statues in a glass case in between two huge bookcases. 

Exhaling deeply, Louis crossed his knee with the ankle, leaning back in the comfortable armchair, matching the one Harry was sitting on, sans the wheels. "Figured I would have a harder time getting inside if I looked like a homeless person." His lips pressed in a tight line once he finished speaking. "Still not sure how I feel about it but that's as good as Andy could've made it with kitchen scissors." Another pause, Harry staying silent. "Heard I'm not the only one experimenting with my look, am I?"

The boy physically cringed at the memory of two nights before, letting his hands fall to the armrests from where they previously were crossed on his chest. “Looks good. Far better than my… situation.” 

“Please, tell me there is a selfie.” A very unexpected sound broke the silence. The borderline whine worked like a magic spell, taking off some of the tension between the two.

The brunette blushed. **_BLUSHED_**.

Sure, Louis' wit was barely enough to make things right, but it was a relief that he managed to make Harry seemingly more comfortable, and if that wasn't the case, at least he was more relaxed himself.

“Well…” The boy rasped out, Lou’s smirk spreading onto his lips as he reached for the phone that was laid to the right of his closed book. 

Tapping his thumbs aggressively, Harry sighed at the sight of the photo he was looking for, eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to be contemplating whether he should share it or not. “I am not leaving without seeing it, just so you know.” Louis threatened, cockiness brightening his blue eyes.

Convinced with the argument, Styles laid the device flat on the desk and slid it across the top. Louis, without thinking that he was maybe _too_ relaxed, grabbed the phone and stifled a chuckle upon seeing the clumsy selfie. Only Harry could’ve taken such a grainy picture with his newest iPhone’s camera. It took a certain kind of genius to misuse technology to the extent Harry has.

Louis aligned the phone with Harry’s face and darted his eyes from the screen to the boy’s inscrutable face. “Had it been more platinum and less egg yolk, I think you would’ve pulled it off just fine.” He reviewed the boy’s questionable hairstyle that was thankfully already gone, and from what he saw in Harry’s face, was never to return.

"Yeah, thanks." The brunette reached his hand to retrieve the device, which Louis was already handing him. Tomlinson was wondering if he was the only one who felt the tingle travel all the way to his toes when their fingers clumsily bumped into each other.

“Sorry to pop in like that, I should’ve called you.” The conversation switched to the lane approaching the proper reason why Louis was even there. “Maybe not, you wouldn’t let me in.” Little twitches of Lou’s features clearly showed that the gears in his head were spinning on full speed. “Guess I was lucky you were expecting somebody.” He started getting frustrated with the unresponsive approach Harry got back to. “Or that… Olivia forgot the instructions not to let me in.” 

“There were no instructions.” Styles cut in, interrupting Louis’ rambling, knowing better than to let the writer continue speaking, the nervousness very apparent in the sudden chattiness.

“Haven’t thought they were needed.” 

Fair, Louis didn’t think he would be coming back either, though it was his second time already so… maybe Harry should’ve gotten a little plaque with his face and a clear message that this man is not welcome in his house. 

Harry’s restraint made him really fucking uncomfortable, his silhouette shifting several times solely from how difficult it was to stay still under the boy’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry.” Louis added that one to the list, seriously interested in how many times he was going to apologize throughout their chat. “I won’t take long. At least I don't think I will." He was pretty sure Harry was aware of his fidgeting, even if he couldn't have possibly seen him picking on the tough cuticles around his trimmed fingernails. "I know this is stupid, and I am sorry I'm bringing this all back, but I felt very… uneasy after the chat we’ve had on Saturday and I…” The brunette once again cringed, this time at the memory of the drunk call he was responsible for. “I just couldn’t bear the thought that I could die tomorrow and have you thinking like that about everything that happened.” Lou added another apology to the list, totalling three, which was less than he expected, to be honest. 

“Why would you die tomorrow?” Styles stuck to the single least significant part of the speech. 

Chuckling bitterly, Louis picked up on that, rather elaborate than sink back into the awkward silence. "A bus could run me over, I could get murdered…" He used his fingers as some sort of abacus, thinking of more situations that could lead to his premature demise. "I've been having these weird chest pains lately. And arthritis. Weeks on the couch are catching up to me, my spine is a proper spiral by now." The comedic finish as a means to maybe humour his old friend a bit.

It didn’t look like he succeeded though, Harry’s expression still as statuesque as ever. “You should probably get that checked out.” The boy muttered, Louis marvelling over the timbre of his voice, which memory faded with time. “The chest pains, I mean.” Harry clarified as if that was needed. “And a gym card to go with it.”

At least the singer’s concern with the lack of physical exercise in Lou’s life was something that hasn’t changed. As annoyed as he always got at the remarks, now he was glad to have this one constant. “Probably, yeah.”

Harry stood up, with crossed arms padding his way towards one of the windows, looking incredibly pensive as he gazed out to the garden. “I’m sorry.” That was… unexpected. Louis hasn’t asked though, somehow mesmerized by the scenery in front of him. It was lucky that at no point, Styles has taken his eyes off the green lawn that was now being sprinkled with rainwater to catch him staring. “I should’ve known better than to believe I wouldn’t get drunk and call you at one point. Should’ve deleted your number.”

Oh… that. See, Louis had a hard time seeing that call as some sort of inconvenience. That’s why he was taken aback by the apology. “It’s fine. I’m glad you haven’t.” He admitted on a whim, not taking into consideration how pathetic it made him look.

“Why?” Harry asked, still not looking at him.

Ugh, he needed a moment. A deep sigh concluded a brief thought process he followed. Everything he thought of while in the living room was useless, he didn't know what made him believe that with Harry being such a wildcard, he was going to be able to execute any kind of script or get through the conversation with pre-formed statements. "Because without you calling, I would've never gotten the balls to come here.” 

There was no clear answer whether Louis was glad that Harry turned away from the window and faced him, his expression just as inscrutable as previously. “Why does it matter so much that you’re here?”

Ouch… So maybe his claim that Harry needed to have some things cleared for him wasn’t exactly correct. Hell, he always knew that it was just an excuse. 

Suddenly very uncomfortable in his seat, Louis got up as well, crossing his way up to the mahogany console that stood under all those awards. “Can I?” He inquired, looking at the simple carafe with lemon water that seduced him with the thin mist that only indicated that the beverage was still cold.

“Of course.” The boy came back to his seat while Louis busied himself with pouring water to the brim of one of the six glasses set on a tray. 

With half of the water down, the beverage doing barely anything to help with the uncomfortable scratching in his throat, Louis came back to the desk, setting the glass on a coaster before he sat down. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” He started, his throat trying to keep his words from escaping. “Not only lately but from when we’ve…” Of course, once it gets serious, his whole body malfunctions. “Sorry, I still suck at this, I just…" The fourth apology added to the list. "Guess I couldn't have you thinking that what we've had was all fake." His shoulders shrugged without him consenting to that movement. Hopefully, it wasn't going to take away any of a load of his words. “I just felt so bad that I’ve never said anything and when I’ve realized that you thought that I haven’t… felt anything…” The juvenile Louis came through with the slightest cringe at his words. "I know it's selfish of me to even come here for the sake of keeping my mind at peace, but your words hit me like a fucking train and I just simply couldn't let you think like that, not that it matters anymore." 

That was… smoother than he expected. He would give himself a standing ovation if he pulled that off during one of those stupid rehearsals he had in front of the mirror while he was styling his hair. 

“You wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Louis admitted, very confused with how poised Harry managed to remain, looking back at him from across the desk with his eyebrows just slightly pinched together. 

"I know it wasn't all fake." Styles scoffed. Not the reaction Louis would've expected, but at least it was something other than that borderline boredom. "Plays in school adaptation of _Grease_ once and thinks he’s John Travolta.” The eerily unfamiliar curls atop his head shook with his head, a smirk bending his lips, quite ill-fitting in the tone of Lou’s confession.

Flabbergasted, that’s what Louis was. Not a single aspect of the meeting was going how he predicted it to. “Then why would you say that I wouldn’t care if you died? That I never cared?” There was this thread of desperation in his voice. A whiny, pathetic cry echoing for a second or two.

“Have you?” Harry reclined with a cocked eyebrow, shielding himself with arms he crossed on his chest. 

“Of course, I have." Even a deaf person would've picked up on the hurt in his tone. "Maybe I haven't done the greatest job of showing you that I did, but that doesn't mean I want you dead. For fuck's sake, Harry!" His hands were in the air before he decided to even throw them.

Laughter was not something he would've ever expected as a reaction, even from the bizarre Harry with whom he had a dubious pleasure of dealing. That's what the boy did, though, he snickered. "Maybe it would've been different if you did a little better of a job." This time it was the brunette who shrugged, disconcertingly flippant around the subject of their perished relationship.

It was… crushing, the borderline scornful manner in which Styles addressed something that still took such a toll on Louis. Maybe it was better though. For Harry, of course. Tomlinson couldn't say that he felt any better with that, but if it helped the boy cope in his day-to-day life, he was going to gladly accept a few more blows, the least he could do. 

A deep sigh did a poor job of easing up the hollow that snapped opened after he tended to that wound for so long. “I didn’t think what I felt mattered.” The confession weighed more than he expected it to. “I haven’t… expected to care. That's not what I do." Yes, he was aware of how idiotic he sounded at the moment. "I care about my mum, I care about the guys, and I care about me. I don't go round, caring for people who don't need me to care for them." Another word surpassed 'sorry' on the podium. 

“What makes you think I didn’t need you to care for me?” For the first time in forever, Louis caught the trace of genuine interest in Harry’s features, disappearing as soon as it sparked, but it was undoubtedly there.

"There are so many people caring about you, what would a pathetic loser of a writer change?"

“These people care about their paycheck, not me.” The brunette scoffed, straightening in his seat. “Welcome to humble abode of that particular club I guess.”

For a split second, there was thought whether he should just walk out, clearly none of his words making any difference in Harry's opinion about him. Fair, it was never his first intention to better his image, but it was disheartening to see how indifferent the boy seemed to be about everything he had to say, no matter how much effort it took Louis to even release those thoughts from the confinement of his brain. "You know that's bullshit." With his voice significantly harsher, he reminded Harry of all the people that surrounded the boy, not all of them driven by money.

“Maybe I wanted something genuine for once.” Harry brushed spread fingers through his dishevelled hair. “Not for money, not for publicity…” His expression transformed from indifferent to pained. “For me.” 

Louis' heart just about broke into million shards when he got a peek of that trace of vulnerability that Harry would've never hidden from him back in the day when things were normal. "Look how that turned out." There was nothing else he could've said.

“It wouldn’t if you were honest with me.” 

Maybe. But not certainly. Had he been truthful from the get-go, there was no way they would’ve ever ended up having the kind of relationship that developed between them. If he came clean later, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t have landed in a similar situation to the current one, perhaps a bit less emotionally involved, especially on Tomlinson's side. In spite of everything that friendship had put him through, Louis hasn't regretted a second he spent with that boy. He doubted he would've done anything differently, even possessing all the knowledge that he did now.

“Would you tell me the truth if the roles were switched?” The question wasn’t intended to be asked but it just kind of fell off his lips on its own. “Would you jeopardize the biggest opportunity of your life for the sake of being decent for a random bloke you’ve just met?” He was genuinely interested in the answer. Of course, Harry was as decent as people go, always so kind and selfless, though it wasn’t exactly certain what he would’ve done in Lou’s situation that wasn’t a very easy one.

“You’ve just said that I wasn’t all that random.” Styles avoided answering with that observation.

“You weren’t then. But it was too late to come clean.” Louis ran flattened palms through his face, rubbing his eyes harshly. “It wouldn’t have changed the ending had I told you then, you know it wouldn’t.” He was almost positive that there was this flash of understanding in the green of Harry’s eyes. “At least it gave me some extra time before it all went to shit.” 

“It would’ve been easier if you told me.”

"Would it really?" Louis shed doubt on that statement. Harry nodded once. "Then, I am sorry. Sorry that I've let this thing between us get as serious as it got. I shouldn't have let that happen knowing that we'll both end up hurt."

“How’d you know we would?” Styles insisted, his eyebrows back to furrowed.

“That relationship had an expiration date.” He scoffed, taking a sip of water to lubricate his dry throat. “What was it, December fifteenth?” 

“How come you’re so sure it would’ve ended there?” Harry’s obstinacy was a huge contrast to the initial flippancy. 

Louis scoffed at the innocent naivety, so reminiscent of ‘old’ Harry. “Of course, it would. You’d go back to LA, I would’ve stayed here. The end.” Now it was Louis who was the derisive one, quite surprising turn of events, to be frank.

"You're underestimating my persistence." The boy's chest was pushed forward as he sat straight, an unusual occurrence with how slumped his back was most of the time.

“Maybe.” The writer shrugged, getting through the rest of his water, scrunching his face at the tepid temperature he wasn’t appreciative of. Well, that one was on him for talking so much. “Like you’ve said, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” His lips pressed in a thin line, tasting lemon with the tip of his tongue pressed to the barrier.

"Probably not." The brunette agreed though it looked like he was holding something back.

Louis was in no state to pull anything Harry wasn’t willing to give him out of the boy, the conversation far too straining on his brain. “Guess I won’t be taking more of your time, you seem busy.” He nodded at the laptop, with which the brunette started fiddling just a second ago.

“Extremely.” The singer admitted in a scoff, turning the computer to show his company a losing game of solitaire.

“You’ve lost that one, haven’t you?” Being no card games aficionado, the last contact with that particular entertainment somewhere around the age of fifteen, when his internet sometimes failed, Louis took a wild guess.

“I’m yet to win one of these in this lifetime.” Harry sighed, closing the lid of his computer, focusing all of his attention on Louis. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you came.” That confession was… very bizarre considering the boy’s previous act. “God knows I’ve almost popped into yours once, it’s good you broke first.”

“Don’t your words sort of defy the idea that I was the one who broke first?” He scoffed, getting up from his seat, acknowledging that the end was nearer than he would’ve liked it to be. “How close exactly have you came?” He inquired for no other reason than his reluctance to leave.

"I might have gotten myself one of those muffins that you like." Louis' eyes widened in a surprise, the reaction very much noticed by Styles. "I don't know if I'm biased, but I liked ours better."

Reminiscing of the good old days was the last thing Louis needed at the moment, a heavy obstruction growing in his throat at the memory. 

He still lingered a bit, very unwilling to leave. It was really quite obvious that once he’s gone, it’s over. “The lumps really do the trick, don’t they?” Disappointment struck once Harry hasn’t stepped in to fiercely defend the batter like he used to before, every time Louis pointed out that there might have been _some_ lumps in the muffins. “I thought it would be much harder talking to you.” The sincere confession came out of nowhere. 

“We’ve always had that, haven’t we?” There was the slightest twitch of the corners of Harry’s lips that made Louis think that he would’ve killed for it to progress into something deeper. He wasn’t sure if he deserved the full-on grin, all dimples and crinkled eyes, but he couldn’t deny that this was exactly what he craved as the last farewell.

“Yeah.” The struggle to keep the disappointment contained was bigger than he would’ve expected. “I better go, thank you for hearing me out. God knows I didn’t deserve that.” His lips pressed in a tight line, a caricature of a smile bending them.

“Thank you as well… Maybe I needed to hear you say all that.” 

"Glad I could've helped." He neared the door, sliding fingers over the wood of the frame before he found the handle. "If you ever feel like having the second-best muffin in the world, you can drop by for a cuppa to go with it." It was a stupid impulse that pushed those words out, but he couldn't stop himself. "You can even wake me up, I won't get _too_ mad.”

“I can already hear you cussing me out.”

“I would never!” Louis promised, acting as if the two of them meeting again was a viable scenario, aware that the odds of that happening were close to zero. “Not out loud.” They laughed in unison, knowing that this was exactly what Louis would do. “Oh, can I ask you a question?” He was already pressing the handle when he remembered about one matter that puzzled him for a while now.

“For the book?” Harry’s wit kicked in.

“Ha ha." Tomlinson clapped his hands. "How much conniving it took to get Jeff off my ass?" The memory of the day he received the third and final letter from Jeff, struck him with a new dose of relief.

“Not that much.” Harry’s shoulders shook in a shrug. “I’ve told him that we’ve slept together and I _might have_ implied that you were going to out me or whatever.”

Louis winced at the words, a sting settling in his chest. “Is that really who you think I am?” 

Styles leaned back in his seat, picking up the book he was previously reading, setting it on his lap as he still had his eyes on the guest. “Now? No. Then? Yeah, maybe I have.” 

“Ouch.” Tomlinson cringed. “Guess I’ve deserved that.” He struggled a chuckle under his nose. “Either way, I don’t think I could ever thank you enough… You really are too kind to arseholes.” 

“Heard that one before.” The brunette nodded. “From you, no less.”

"How ironic." He observed. "I'll see myself out." One last yearning look was thrown at the boy, getting a semi-sincere smile back before he turned on the heel of his foot and left the room.

Feeling the careful gaze of one of the employees on himself, he said a quick goodbye and left, knowing the route well enough not to require assistance. 

When he was just around the corner of Harry’s street, he pressed his back to somebody’s fence, taking a few deep breaths. He was thankful for the fortunate turn of events that made the dreaded talk far smoother than he would’ve expected. He was surprised they were able to handle the chat like adults they were, that outcome not so certain considering the setting of their separation in September.

It was hard to part with the delusion that he could salvage anything by simply coming there and laying out his emotions for the boy to do whatever he felt fitting, All the hope thrown out of the window when he left the premises.

There was this sense of relief, sourcing directly from the fact that he finally didn’t have to worry about Harry thinking that he was some kind of conspiring asshole. Sure, he hasn’t gotten much response to his confession, Styles barely addressing the things that were laid on him but he still couldn’t think that it was all fake, could he? He wouldn’t have chatted with Louis quite this effortlessly if he hated him. Hell, if he had, he wouldn’t let him speak in the first place.


	32. Chapter 32

"I don't know what else to tell you." Louis shrugged, slouching into comfortable cushions of the armchair he just sat on. "Just a professional acquaintance that fizzled out once the project fell through, there's nothing extraordinary about that." Feeling an intrusive gaze on himself, he reached for a mug that stood on the table separating him and his companion, scorching his tongue with tea, though that still was a better option than the interrogation that concluded not that long before.

It was quite a surprise when he woke up to his ringtone, going off inches from his sleeping head. Fair, he shouldn't have been asleep at three in the evening, of course, so without a reason to complain about being disturbed, he answered the call. Whoever he was expecting to hear on the other side, it sure as fuck wasn't Kiko. But that’s who it was.

He didn't necessarily know what it was about that girl but she always, without fail, managed to lift his spirits up with as little as a hello. Thankfully, that was a case this time as well. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge that, the fact that he took a giant leap back in his recovery after his meeting with Harry, wasn't exactly something he could hide too well. 

Okay, it wasn't nearly as bad as it was in September, but a lot was going on in his head since he visited the boy. That's when Kiko, like a godsent, provided him with something to do, too much stuff, to be honest, but that helped since he hasn’t really had time to think too much.

When he left Japan, he was sure that this casual acquaintance was over, totalling three pleasurable hangouts. He was wrong, though. There was no denying that when he got the call that his friend was in London and wanted to see him before she goes back home. It was a work thing for Kiko, that’s why they didn’t have a lot of time on their hands, but they had some and decided to use it.

This time it was Louis who took the role of a tour guide, which wasn't exactly a perfect position for him but oh well. He scrolled through a few websites and picked a few places that looked promising, most of his choices turned out to be great. With tons of kilometres done around the city, the two of them were now relaxing in a small café in Camden Town, catching up on their lives that haven't brought any exciting updates.

Well, Louis kind of did, but that wasn't something that he could, or even wanted to share with the girl who, unfortunately, poked that sensitive subject and straight-up inquired about Harry, something she never used to do before. 

Louis hoped she wouldn’t see the initial reaction to the boy’s name, just a flinch that disappeared as soon as it twisted his face, something he didn’t think he could even control. Trying to keep his stance as composed as he could, he updated the girl on the status of that particular non-existent friendship.

With a lot of claims he made, all of them revolving around the natural course that some friendships went through, Kiko still hasn’t seemed convinced, the doubt clear as the day in her expression. “It’s a shame.” She concluded Louis’ highest efforts to make his story believable. “And here I was, thinking I could use you to put a ring on him.”

Louis forced laughter, successfully enough not to (hopefully) cause suspicion. Fine, he was paranoid because in what world would anybody suspect the truth, even if he was behaving slightly off. If anything, they might have had a big fight and didn't want to talk about it. The secret romance was hardly the first conclusion anybody would come up with but well, tell that to Louis.

"Sorry to disappoint." He chuckled, picking up the sweet roll he ordered to go with his tea, picking it apart with his fingers, dusting his lap with crumbs. No matter that he slept through fourteen hours, fatigue, not so slowly, started creeping up onto him. It was late, and he kind of hoped they were going to separate soon because even though he was glad to see Kiko, his eyelids grew progressively heavier with every second and he started getting concerned about whether he wasn’t going to fall asleep on the comfortable armchair, even with heaps of people around them.

Weirdly enough, the hubbub of the place worked to his disadvantage, lulling him to sleep rather than keeping him conscious. He sipped his tea and kept his gaze on Kiko, who with great enthusiasm, told a story about some kpop group she had a chance to interview. At least it wasn’t Harry, yeah?

The story stretched for ages, more and more threads unveiling as Kiko went on, marvelling about a guy, who apparently was her favourite of the band. The age gap that wasn't even that big with its six years, was the most evident at that moment. Sure, Louis remembered having idols, but he was never quite this enthusiastic about someone, oh well.

It was pleasant, the company without the need to speak himself, something that was required of him to do with his usual squad. Just then, it occurred to him that perhaps he needed to find himself some friends that weren't a part of his usual ensemble. Of course, he loved his pals to death, but then, he sometimes needed a breather, and it's been a while since he had one of those, especially with Marco living with him. 

An idea of making friends up popped into his head. What was more juvenile than that? Not many things probably, but that way, he would have a ready excuse to use when he just doesn't feel like going out or staying in for that matter. That happened sometimes, even more frequently recently and if his friends were a bit more understanding of him, that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Pushing away the idiotic thought of making up friends, replacing that one with scolding himself for not having balls to just say no, he took the last sip of his lukewarm tea and stood up, following Kiko’s lead. Being a well-mannered person that he was, or at least wanted to come off as such, he grabbed their cups and returned them to the designated space.

With all the crumbs fallen off his lap, he put his coat on, and the two made a beeline for the door. Louis, in a gentlemanly manner, opened the door and let Kiko exit first.

It wasn’t raining anymore, which was a pleasant surprise after however many days of rain London has gotten. There was no surprise in the fact that it was dark out, November making a great job of stealing sunlight in the middle of a day.

As unenthusiastic as he was, Louis hadn't protested when his companion dragged him into the various boutiques stretching along the streets. Thankfully, it was another one of those things that hasn't necessarily required him to talk much, most of that taken care of by Kiko, who was just as chatty as she always was. What was for Louis to do, was to nod and throw in some monosyllabic remarks that propelled the girl’s rants and also made it seem like her friend was listening.

To be fair, he was listening, for the most part. It wasn't unusual for him to get lost in his head sometimes, especially lately, but other than that, he was fairly attentive. Another role he took that evening, was some sort of fashion guru who had the authority to rule whether Kiko should or shouldn’t buy whatever it was what she was trying on. It was really quite stupid that _he_ was trusted with something like that. He, whose wardrobe consisted of various colour variants of the same thing just because he liked it and was too lazy to search for anything new.

Still, he wasn't going to make his friend believe that she made a mistake trusting his judgement and followed her around, sitting with all the bored boyfriends on the ottoman outside the dressing rooms, adapting to the surroundings and scrolling through his phone, taking breaks only when he was asked for an opinion.

He almost scoffed when Harry's song came up in one of the shops. It must've been H&M that did him dirty like that. This was a new low for him, getting emotionally triggered while shopping for fucking socks. Let's just say that his day hasn't gotten better with that, although it hasn't gotten much worse either. It was a while since Harry's music stopped striking him so hard, at least that one song he's gotten sick of even before they've separated in September. Now, he was somewhat desensitised to that particular one, and that was quite convenient as the people wouldn't stop playing it everywhere he went.

Of course, he commented on how overplayed the song was, just because he liked to bitch around sometimes and his usual friend group was over his attitude, so he stopped himself. He didn't have to do that now, he explicitly expressed his opinion, pulling a chuckle out of his friends and a few side-eyes from teenagers standing in the queue next to them. 

“Is that a bit of resentment that I can sense?” Kiko asked from above two tops she held in her arms.

"Of course, it's not." Louis defended himself, concluding his statement with a scoff. "I wouldn't mind new material, I guess." His shoulders shrugged as he took a step forward, just two more people before he gets to pay and leave.

“It’s not like they are going to play the leaked one.” The girl remarked and started digging in her phone for something. “Even if, I doubt they would want to have people sobbing in H&M.” She joked and started aggressively tapping on the screen of her phone, which, as Louis noticed, showed her Instagram feed.

That was… news to him. Whatever was happening in Harry’s life, Lou’s friends never failed to bring up and update him, even if common sense usually should kick in and tell them that it wasn’t the greatest idea. He hasn’t heard about whatever it was that Kiko was talking though, his interest hopefully not too apparent on his face. "Leaked one?" He inquired, furrowing his eyebrows in a hopefully threatening expression he sent to the curious teenagers, who wouldn't take their eyes off him.

He wouldn't be surprised if they recognised him. It wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last either. Thankfully enough, Harry's fans stopped bothering him quickly after the two of them stopped coming in a tandem. The staring wasn't much better, though.

“Are you living under a rock?” Kiko’s face stayed bizarrely sound when her voice took care of expressing all the outrage. "It was all over the internet. Around when he stopped working with Azoff." The girl continued dropping unforeseen bombs on Louis with the most unbothered expression on her small babyface. 

“Must’ve missed it.” He shrugged again, envying how effortlessly nonchalant his friend was.

“People were going mad, everybody was speculating.” She wouldn’t stop speaking, even if Louis thought it would’ve been better if she has.

“Speculating about what?” He asked, more himself than his friend, who was already making her way to the till.

Contrary to his suspicion, he ended up getting an answer to the question. Halfway there to the cashier, Kiko exclaimed over the hubbub of the busy shop. “Who it is about!”

Was there ever a way he could’ve avoided the fate he brought onto himself when, mere minutes after coming back home from quite exhausting hangout, he googled the song Kiko mentioned in a conversation? Probably not. No, definitely not.

With headphones still on, he sat on his smoking pillow, white smoke of whichever cigarette he went through, seeping from between his barely parted lips. He shouldn't have done that, of course, he shouldn't. Even with that, millions of thoughts racing through his head, he couldn't bring himself to regret the decision of looking the track up and listening to it. He hasn't regretted repeating it either.

It took maybe three or four tries before he found what he was looking for. Soundcloud proved to be his saviour and the opposite of that as well. When he learned that Harry has put out a sad song about heartbreak, a thought had popped into his head that perhaps, he was the one who people were speculating about. And yes, he knew how absolutely narcissistic it made him look but now, having listened to the song twice, there was really no way it wasn’t about the consequences of the brief fling the two of them had.

He didn't know when Harry wrote the song, he didn't know whether he ever intended to put it out, probably not. Whatever the circumstances were, the four minutes of the singer spilling his heart out on a dumb mp3, settled heavily on Louis' shoulders. Maybe even heavier than anything else regarding the breakup.

"Why didn't you tell me about the song?" He found himself asking upon entering the living room, unsuspecting Marco hanging out on the couch with a beer. It was stupid because he hasn't even intended to inquire, it just happened without him realising. Maybe it was this prickle of betrayal he felt in regards to his friends, that pushed the question right out his throat.

It was really quite evident that the roommate knew exactly what Tomlinson was talking about, his eyes telling everything there was to say about his knowledge of the track in question. “I… We…” The man stuttered, keeping his eyes on the telly, a defeated look in his features. “We thought it wouldn’t do you any good.”

Fine. Their concern would've been justified, if it wasn't for the numerous times, they've brought up Harry in different ways, even when they knew it wouldn't do their friend any good then either. "How'd you even know it was me?" He asked, visibly annoyed with arms crossed on his chest.

“Louis, really?” An ill-fitting smirk bent Marco’s lips ever so slightly.

Yeah… maybe his question was stupid. No, it definitely was with the little things in the lyrics that so obviously screamed Louis, at least to the people who knew him as much as his pals did.

Severely compromised in the mental department, Louis was ready to say goodbye to that day. Skipping on a shower, he headed towards the bedroom, where he miraculously enough, fell asleep like a baby.

-

Louis strutted into the apartment, five other men scattered around the flat they were in and out of throughout the bigger part of the day. “You forgot your… rubbish.” He tossed a bag with the Halloween decorations Marco has put out for whatever reason and hasn’t managed to take down to this day, even if they were almost done with November.

Without furtherer ado, he grabbed the closest box and ripped the tape off it, uncovering a whole bunch of kitchen stuff. Maybe it wasn't a thing he was very excited to tackle, but he could've ended up with clothes or toiletries, so that's wasn't the worst either.

Sure, nobody was doing any actual work yet, just standing around with beers in their hands but there was a logic to Lou's eagerness. See, with thirteen boxes of stuff they've transported from the basement to the studio, divided by the six of the people around, he really had only to do two, and then he could excuse himself without having to worry that he hasn't done enough.

As much as he didn’t mind hanging out with his friends, even Marco’s and Johnny’s boyfriends not changing that, he had a really fucking long day and couldn’t wait to go back to his and hit the pillow as soon as he gets there. What was even better, was the fact that, for the first time in a while, he was going to be alone.

Of course, he enjoyed living with Marco. By the start, his presence was extremely helpful, and for that, he was going to be forever grateful, but there comes a time in one's life, when having roommates stops being just a fun thing to do on top of being a means to save money, and the time has come for him around six years ago.

Now, with the prospect of going home to an empty flat, he couldn’t wait to do just that. That’s why, he somewhat erratically started throwing various utensils into the drawers, figuring that Marco has a whole lot of rearranging to do one way or another. “Come on, lads. You have too much time on your hands?” He threw a thunderous look at the group gathered around a couch, all five sets of eyes watching curiously as Louis did his job, being the example for once.

“What? Do you have somewhere better to be?” Andy answered, his voice just as derisive as Louis would’ve expected it to sound.

A little bit taken aback by the question, he turned back to the counters, unloading dinnerware into the cabinets above his head. "I do, as a matter of fact." His voice made him come off more defensive than he intended. "I have a perfectly fine case of beer in the fridge of my empty flat. I can hardly see anything better than that at this moment of my life." The argument pulled a chuckle out of some of his friends, who apparently disagreed with that, but who cared? Not Louis.

Maybe there was just the slightest bit of animosity lingering in him from when he confronted Johnny and Andrew about the song they were very aware of, yet failed to share that discovery with Louis, who really should’ve been the first one to find out. Fine, there was no big fight or anything like that, Tomlinson knowing better than instigating one the one day they were forced to spend around each other, but he wasn’t happy with the guys, not at all.

That’s why he was kind of cranky, and if he wasn’t throwing snarky comments, he had headphones on his head and blasted music into his ears while carrying boxes and moving furniture. That’s the most he could’ve done to pretend that he wasn’t with his pals at the moment, even if he very much was.

Had he been a horrible person, he would bail on the move and leave the work for the rest of the guys. As much as his friends haven’t proved themselves to be the best ones, he wasn’t going to do the same. He was better than that. On top of that, moving stuff also provided quite a distraction to the thoughts that wandered all around since he hung out with Kiko.

He wouldn’t say that he was in pain anymore, not necessarily that. It was just something weird that settled in his gut and wouldn’t leave. As it was apparent, he was still able to function with whatever it was, but whether it was fatigue or that weird feeling, he was looking forward to heading back to his place.

Purposefully choosing the second box labelled ‘kitchen’, he was done in a matter of little short of an hour. As diligent as he could bring himself to be, he folded the boxes and left them by the door as he was leaving, much to his mates’ disappointment, who apparently haven’t taken him as seriously as they should have.

It was almost eleven in the evening when he let himself into his apartment, very pleasurably empty space awaiting his arrival. Of course, with Marco moving out, there were some things he had to tidy up or reorganise, but that wasn’t a task he was going to burden himself with after a whole day of physical labour.

Walking into the kitchen, he cracked open one of the beers he bought for himself as some sort of celebration, deciding that the occasion was suiting for something better like those craft beers with goofy labels that never failed to remind him how poor he was from the shelves when he was picking up whatever it was that was on sale at the moment. After he carefully smelled the rim of the bottle as the first step in assessing whether it was worth it to pay twice the price of his usual stuff, he took a swig, letting the liquid spill over his tastebuds, the coldness hitting his teeth with a dull ache that overpowered everything else.

It was… decent. Was it better than his usual choice? Yeah, definitely. Was it twice as good, justifying the price? No, not so much. With that question out of the way, Louis moved to the couch, where he sprawled himself all over it, putting on reruns of the Bake Off as background noise while he was doing… nothing, enjoying the solitude.

He hasn't realised how much he missed it until he got it back. There was no definite plan for how he was going to take advantage of this freshly regained privilege, but he was going to use it somehow. Maybe he was too tired to do anything to show off how big of a man of the house he was. He had a whole tomorrow to strip naked and wank wherever the hell he wanted, even if it was in his fucking kitchen for that matter, not that he was planning to do that because… why would he?

With the third of his case of beer gone, quite pathetic as he intended to drink all six bottles, he headed for the bathroom, his freshly regained status manifested in the fact that he left the door wide opened as he went on with the shower and his shortened bedtime routine.

Thinking whether he should change the sheets before hitting the bed, that thought quickly pushed away into the future since struggling with the covers was the last thing he wanted to do, Louis slid himself into the bed, splaying his limbs all over the mattress, covering as much surface as he could, which was quite a pathetic display but he tried. 

Extremely satisfied on his lonesome, sleep has crept upon him quicker than he managed to notice that it was the case.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the fact that the last 32nd chapter is quite short and doesn't really do a whole lot for the story, I'm uploading the 33rd at the same time, enjoy!

Pulling into an open parking spot, Louis struggled just slightly to fit himself in the space, just a consequence of giving up driving when he moved to London. When he managed to pull it off, he shut the engine off and sat in the seat for a while longer than it was necessary, quite unwilling towards leaving the heated car to get hit with the prickling icy blows that caused havoc outside for a while now.

Okay, the weather wasn't exactly shocking as they were closing on December, but the lack of the element of surprise hasn't changed the fact that it was cold as balls and Louis did not appreciate that.

Knowing that sooner or later he was going to have to leave, he did just that, hauling two cases of beer with himself because that’s what his mother’s place didn’t have stored, quite understandably.

It hasn't taken him long to get up to his mum's, a bit longer than it usually would since he purposefully avoided the lift in fear of another old lady that would take the minimum of ten minutes to say that she still remembered him being this sweet little angel running around the building. That was a bunch of bullshit, to be honest. He still recalled those old hags constantly telling on him when he was up to no good as a kid. Maybe their memories faded those moments out, but his surely hasn't, and he still was salty about it. Of course, now that he was all grown up, everybody wanted a piece of the big shot writer Louis because, as far from the truth as this image was, that's how he was seen in the neighbourhood.

The emptiness of the flat started weighing on him as soon as he kicked the door closed, an overdramatic sigh not doing a lot to combat the silence around him. Thankfully, he was halfway done with that awful day, and if he played his cards right, he was going to have an early night and move on to the next day, which carried a promise of being much better than the one prior.

Because really, what kind of hospital admits people for testing during the holidays? Fair, it wasn't Christmas yet, and he was going to get his mum back for the actual dinner but, it was also his birthday, and as much as he tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal that he was alone, he couldn't exactly pretend in front of himself, could he?

Twenty-nine. That's how fucking old he's gotten. One year to thirty and that's like halfway there to the grave. "Let's drink to that." He concluded the thought and opened a beer for himself, taking a big swig of the bitter beverage. It was funny how unfamiliar it felt to drink in the kitchen of his mother's place. Now that he thought about it… he might have never actually drunk there, at least not so out in the open like that—a new milestone at twenty-nine.

Not taking too many of his mother’s instructions to heart, he immediately got busy with the task of emptying the laundry room that his mum had mentioned wanting to paint somewhere briefly in their conversation. Sure, that was probably not exactly what she meant when she said that Louis had to go home and get some rest after he spent a whole night by her side (yes, she kicked him out), but at least he could make himself useful and continue the painting streak he was on quite recently, started with his own flat, through Marco’s new place, Johnny’s living room and now that.

To be fair, he was quite tired and could probably use some rest, but if he took a kip now, there was no way he could've gone with the early night he was planning, so… no. Even more. With physical labour he planned for himself, the chances of his plan succeeding skyrocketed.

With all the junk out of the room, the washing machine in the middle of it since that’s how far he managed to move it on his own, Louis rummaged through the utility closet and found the can of paint his mother mentioned ordering for this purpose. He knew she would be mad at him, quite enthusiastic about taking the task upon herself, but he couldn’t care less. After all, doing renovations was nowhere close to what he meant when he said she had to be easy on herself.

He cut to the chase quickly. With the music pumping through a Bluetooth speaker set on the washing machine, he was working the roller like a pro. Okay, maybe the pro was a big word to use, his arms moving quite slowly, but that was a conscious decision he made in order not to splatter the paint all over the linoleum flooring that was long overdue for replacing, but as far as Louis knew, that wasn’t something his mother planned.

Occupying himself with the task worked exactly how he hoped it would, providing a great distraction from the fact that he was, in fact, all alone, doing chores in his mum’s place on his twenty-ninth birthday. Perhaps he should be mature enough not to care that much, but he wasn’t.

For a second or two, there was a thought whether he should hit his school pals up and maybe arrange something, not even with his birthday in mind, but then he realised how unfortunate the timing was, and more than likely, his friends were busy on the evening of the Christmas Eve, so he put that plan to rest.

In the midst of one of a million breaks he took, just as he was sitting on the couch with the laptop in his lap, not too concerned about all the lectures he got from his mum about how it decreases the quality of man’s swimmers because… well, he heard knocking on the door, one he hasn’t expected.

With his head flying towards the source of the commotion, cursing under his breath because he already expected a noise complaint from the neighbour, a fair one too because the music might have been just a bit too loud in the laundry room, he dragged himself off the couch, tossing his computer where he just sat.

Quite annoyed, he padded his way to the door, not sparing juicy insults to whoever it was who came to complain, and opened the door, not really thinking about how he looked like at the moment, shirtless, sweaty and splattered with paint.

As he flung the door open, exasperation evident on his face, he stopped dead in his tracks because Jesus Christ himself could’ve stood in front of his door and that would’ve been more likely than the actual guest.

Nonchalantly leaned on the doorframe, stood no other but Harry Styles, with his hand in a pocket of his coat, the other carrying a paper bag. “Hey.” His rasp made it through the music that was audible in the corridor.

Confused didn’t seem to cut it when he stood face-to-face with a guy he thought he would never see again and now that Harry was there, there was absolutely no area for claiming misunderstanding. “Hi.” He greeted and stepped out of the way. “You want to come in?”

Of course, he wanted to come in. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t come in the first place. Or would he?

There seemed to be a bit of hesitation hidden in his face before he nodded and entered, not taking his coat off, the action indicating brevity of the visit. he took a gander around the place. “Thought your mum would be here.” His free hand reached into the inside pocket of his coat, a white envelope was tucked between his fingers when he pulled it back. “Wanted to give her these.”

The envelope made it into Lou's hands, and without asking for permission, he opened it to find there two tickets for Harry's show in Manchester for when he goes back on tour. "Oh." Louis tried to play it cool and laid the envelope onto a table to the side of the couch. "I'll make sure to give them to her. Sorry you've troubled yourself all the way here for her not to even be here." He forced a smile and leaned on the couch, trying to look less awkward. There was no way he looked nearly as nonchalant as he wanted to, especially with how his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“No problem, I…” The brunette looked even less comfortable than Louis did, which was understandable. “That was a blatant lie, don’t believe anything I’ve said.” He scoffed and chuckled. “I knew that your mum’s at the hospital and I also knew you were here alone.”

"Okay?" The writer needed a minute to work through what he heard. "I'm sorry... you have me a little confused." He decided to drop the act he didn't even have a chance of utilising and went with just being honest.

“That’s fair.” Harry set the bag on the floor and tugged the end of a sleeve of his coat, dropping it on the back of a couch, quite a bold move in Lou’s opinion.

“How’d you know my mum was…” A furrow in Louis’ eyebrows clearly stated his confusion. “Oh my god, they’re still talking to each other, don’t they?” His eyes rolled as he connected the dots.

Sure, he never told his mother not to stay in contact with Anne. Who was he to ever demand something like that of his mother? But then, with Jay not mentioning the friend anymore, he already assumed that this relation fizzled out.

“Yeah.” A smile made it onto Harry’s lips. “Who would’ve thought they would last longer than us?”

Nervous, that’s the only adjective to describe the chuckle that left Lou’s throat. Never had he thought that Harry would just come to his family home, unannounced and so effortlessly joke about the matter that Louis wasn’t exactly ready to joke about.

“Sorry.” Styles reacted to the shift of Lou’s expression. “Anyway, mum told me that you were here all alone and I thought I would’ve hated sitting all alone on my birthday.” His broad shoulders shrugged before he leaned down and reached into the bag. “Though I don’t know why I was thinking you would rather spend your birthday with an ex. The logic is a bit flawed, I agree.”

Louis couldn't bring himself to say anything. To be fair, he had every right to be confused at the moment. He hasn't nudged the topic of the 'ex', that surprised him just a bit since they never actually committed or anything like that. Apparently, he and Harry haven't shared their outlooks on that.

“And I really wanted some cake.” Harry’s laughter was a refreshing change in the heavy atmosphere.

The writer was just about to say that he doesn’t have any cake, when Harry finally straightened, a big green box atop his hand, very familiar one and that wasn’t exactly a good thing.

“This fucker.” Tomlinson couldn’t stifle the laughter that emerged once he saw the nightmare of his childhood. Colin the Caterpillar, was grinning at him, staring deep into his soul with those dead eyes of his that were straight-up nightmare fuel. “You don’t really have to be a part of a birthday party to have some cake, you know?” Slightly relaxed by the idiotic gift he received, Louis reached for the box and moved to the kitchen, aware that there was no need to tell Harry to follow him. “Especially when it’s Christmas.”

"Quite a rave you've got going on in here." Styles remarked, observing Lou's struggle to get the box opened. He managed to get inside, sliding the disgusting creature onto the counter, the cardboard serving as a plate. "So cold out, have you been outside today?" Out of every topic he could've chosen, he started talking about the fucking weather, which was the only indication of how uncomfortable they felt around each other.

"Yeah, I drove here from the hospital." He nodded, slicing into the cake. "How about some tea? I almost froze my ears off, and I can imagine it's even worse right now." Without waiting for the answer, he already reached for the kettle, setting it on the stove.

“Sure, why not.” Harry leaned on one of the counters, eyeing the only cake option he was able to get so late on Christmas Eve.

Not knowing what else he could’ve said, Louis excused himself and padded towards the laundry, turning off the intrusive music and replacing it with the telly he put on just so it helped with the awkwardness.

When he returned to the kitchen, Harry has already prepared the teas, waiting for the water to boil. Louis almost commented on the fact that there was the horrible mug from his school photoshoot on the counter, but he decided to let it slide.

“Doing something particularly interesting today?” The boy inquired, looking bizarrely comfortable considering the setting.

Shrugging his shoulders, Louis reached for the plates, pulling two out and quickly moving to plating clumsy slices of chocolate cake on them. “I was painting, extremely exciting.”

“Painting as in art or…”

Louis barked out a laugh at the sheer thought of him in front of an easel, painting flowers or some bullshit. "No, of course not." The idea managed to relax him quite a bit. "The laundry needed a fresh coat." Just as the kettle whistled, he walked away from the counter with their plates, letting Harry take care of the tea.

He did just that, concluded the making of their tea and brought two cups to the sofa, on which Louis was already sat. “Two sugars and a dash of milk, yeah?” Harry asked as if it would’ve made any difference since the tea was already made.

“Exactly.” He smiled, accepting a mug and setting it on the table, reaching for a spoon, with which he dug into the slice of cake.

_The Polar Express_ provided them with something to hang their eyes on as the silence stretched for a bit longer than they would’ve liked it to. It hasn’t felt necessarily uncomfortable, though Harry’s company was the last thing he expected.

Maybe the cake turned out to be better than he remembered it to be, maybe they went for the seconds, maybe even thirds.

Looking at the mess they’ve made, a very sad rear end of Colin reminding them of the damage, Louis caught Harry looking at the face once he got through all the feet made from white chocolate. “You want the face?” He asked.

“It’s your birthday.” The boy argued, washing the chocolate overload off his tongue with bitter tea.

“I don’t care for white chocolate.”

“That’s the best part!” Without further arguing, Harry went for it and devoured poor caterpillar’s face.

“I haven’t expected you coming… ever, really.” Louis finally brought himself to say as the two of them were sorting the laundry out.

It had to be done, and Harry proposed his help, so who was Louis to say no? To be honest, it hasn't seemed nearly as awkward when they were busy with the task, perhaps that's why Louis even brought himself to say these words since he felt much more comfortable while not being looked at.

The silence, broken only by the distant chatter from the telly, made the birthday boy believe that Harry wasn’t going to say anything to that. Louis wasn’t sure what he expected but not… nothing, that was a bit disappointing.

“I haven’t exactly planned this.” The brunette spoke, focused on putting the detergents on the shelves they just hung back up.

“I’m still struggling to understand, to be honest.”

“I can’t blame you for that.” A bitter chuckle resounded in the room. “I realise this was a stupid idea and don’t hesitate to kick me out if you don’t want me here.”

“No, it’s not that…”

"Can I be honest with you?" Harry's head turned, eyes stuck to Lou's face, the writer nodded. "Because I could easily lie to you and say that this is something I've done spontaneously and you probably would've believed me, but I don't think that's quite the truth, no matter how bad I want to convince myself that it is." He sighed, back to that flustered act that started slowly getting on Tomlinson's nerves.

Louis wasn't exactly sure what he should say to that... if he should even say anything. To be frank, Harry's words haven't provided a lot of space for him to inquire, so he just looked at him, undecided question evident in his gaze.

"There's been something that started bothering me quickly after I've left your place and I have been thinking about that quite a lot." The boy entirely abandoned his task and leaned on the washing machine, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he observed Louis refolding the towels. Sure, it was not something that necessarily needed to be done, but at that moment, he kind of forced chores onto himself so he didn't have to look at Harry. "As much as I could try to excuse myself with being a mess or whatever, I should've never called you a prostitute, and that's something I would like to apologise about."

And Louis… laughed, quickly progressing into a full-on cackle because, _fuck_... it was him who pretty much toyed with Harry's life, lied and betrayed him, but Harry felt like he had to come all the way to him to apologise for calling him a prostitute, which well, he might have some things to base this insult on in the first place.

This time it was Harry who was confused by the reaction, the deep groove in between his eyebrows very indicative of that.

Tomlinson still laughed, just a chuckle, the remnant of his previous fit. “I think I deserved that.” He calmed himself down with a deep breath. “So you drove two hours, probably even more because well… Christmas, just to tell me that you don’t think I am a whore, which, mind you that, I might have given you some reasons to call me?” The attempt at stifling a scoff ended up being unsuccessful.

See, he didn’t want to come off as inconsiderate or somehow mocking towards the matter that, pretty evidently, was taking a toll on the boy. It just happened like that, without him deciding to do that. Laughing in all the wrong moments could easily become his brand at this point, he had quite the experience.

"Hey!" Harry scolded him for that behaviour. "You haven't deserved that. I was out of line, and I'll forever regret calling you this."

“Fine, your apology is accepted.” Louis budged because really, what reason did he have not to? Especially that he wasn’t angry in the first place.

“Thank you.”

They moved to their task, wrapping up reorganising the laundry, leaving it all ready for his mum’s arrival. Honestly, it came out looking better than Lou expected it to, so that was a good thing.

It must’ve been like an hour since they’ve concluded the renovation of the laundry room and ever since that, they were sitting on the sofa, watching A Christmas Carol, maybe having a few more slices of cake which couldn’t be too good for them and even the glasses of milk they had with it, haven’t improved the situation.

Louis was tired, though he couldn’t bring himself to long the solitude, not when he got the greatest birthday gift of all. Was it a bit awkward? At times, yes. Most of the time even, but that didn’t stop him from reacting to the company in a way he hasn’t expected to react to it.

It was quite weird how absolutely sound he felt around Harry, just as if the events of the last four months hasn't happened at all; like they've always been together like that. They were laying on the couch, silent for the most part and just watched the movie. Nobody was distracting themselves with anything, their phones laying forgotten wherever as they took in each other's presence before it's taken away from both of them.

“You could’ve knocked the apology out of the way when I came to you, saved some time and petrol.” Louis spoke after a while of them not saying anything.

“Yeah, probably.” Harry ended up chuckling, having a glance of Lou before he came back to the television. “Maybe subconsciously I was looking for another reason to bother you.” His shoulders shrugged briefly, the boy remaining strangely unbothered during the confession.

“I think you’d find a bunch if you were actually looking for them.”

“I didn’t know if it was a good idea for me to come here.” Harry curled knees to his chest, vacating some space between the two. “Well… not really. I knew it wasn’t a good idea.”

“But you still came.” Louis observed as if it was needed.

“Yeah. It didn’t take me long to convince myself that I could do that since you came to me.”

“Sounds fair.”

“No, it was kind of dumb.”

"True." There was no way denying that it wasn't. "I don't know how I would've put those shelves back up alone, so it was quite convenient." He ended up making a joke out of it, not exactly looking forward to making some deep, meaningful conversation out of this one. "And what would I do without those five thousand calories you've forced into me?" He eyed the mess of Tupperware containers with the food they had destroyed together, the food that Harry smuggled out of his mum's kitchen when he wasn't sure whether his friend was going to have a festive feast at home.

There was a dinner planned, of course, that’s why they ended up eating the most of what Harry brought throughout the movie. It was such a fucking Harry thing to do, really. Whatever his actual motive was, Louis could hardly imagine anybody else doing something this nice for well, as Harry has called him… an ex.

“I think you’re excused. With birthday and a holiday pass, I think you’re free to eat some more.” Harry laughed and got up from the couch, heading out of the room without disclosing where he was headed.

Louis sat alone on the couch, evaluating everything in his head after he lost Harry behind the bathroom door. He didn’t know where exactly to go from there. Do they just sit on their asses and watch the telly? Do they talk through the matters they never had the chance to talk through? That didn’t seem like that good of an idea, considering that getting back into a dark period during Christmas seemed like the worst possible option.

It was pretty surprising that despite not exactly knowing what he could say, unsure about what were the safe things to talk about, he felt pretty relaxed. On the other hand, Harry didn't seem to be tiptoeing around any problematic subjects, so technically there was no reason for Louis to keep himself from asking questions he had, especially now that he might not get another chance to ask them.

As many things to ask about as he thought he had previously, the element of surprise took them all away and left him with nothing, resulting in him staying quiet and Harry doing the majority of the talking. That's why now, he was stuck in this conflicting place when he both wanted the boy to get back to the living room to continue talking and the actual opposite.

He could’ve used Shelly being there, just to provide some distraction when things got particularly uncomfortable, but the one moment his mother’s spoiled, unbearable excuse of a dog could’ve become useful, she was taken care of by Lou’s godmother.

"You wrote a song about me." Louis found himself saying before Harry even had a chance to sit back down. He hasn't meant to bring that up, sort of hoping the brunette would before he had to. As time went by without the matter being mentioned, Louis started getting impatient, and only half-consciously took matters into his own hands.

Harry sighed and fell down on the couch, closer to the middle than the edge where he sat before. “This is incorrect.”

Now that Styles turned to look at Louis, the host could feel his cheeks get progressively redder with every second that passed. He started going through the thought process that landed in the conclusion that Harry’s song was, in fact, about him, and began doubting everything, already panicking that he was making a complete fool out of himself.

"Oh…" Was the only thing that he could bring himself to voice, suddenly feeling the urge to kick the boy out, so there were no witnesses to his embarrassment.

And Harry only stared at him, with interest Louis hasn’t seen in a long while. It was refreshing, something familiar after a whole evening or weirdness… months of it, really.

"I wrote a whole album about us." The confession quickly rid of all the shame Louis felt. "And then some on top of it." He kept smiling at Louis as if he wasn't even ashamed to confess something, that could've been considered rather embarrassing. "Just drawer material more to myself than the others. This is how I cope."

“It’s fine, I’m not…”

“I should’ve asked you before I posted it.”

And now Louis had a whole fucking lot of questions, shock propelling his entire body to the right, where he found Harry with that awfully pensive look on his face. "You've leaked it?"

"I don't know what I was thinking." Harry started another rant. "I don't think I was thinking much that night. It was after I've called you." Very visibly uncomfortable, fiddling with his bare fingers, Harry threw his head back for a second, dropping it back down to find Tomlinson still scrutinising his face. "And then you came to me, and I was sure you wanted to get me to take it down, that you wanted to scold me or whatever, but it quickly became obvious that you haven't heard it."

"Stop being so… stop that." Exasperated, he caught Harry's fingers on an instinct, holding him in place, quite visibly throwing the boy off with the suddenness of the grip. "You've warned me about that, haven't you?" He laughed, recalling the talk they've had a while back. "I've only learned about it recently." That… wasn't entirely the truth. It was like a month since he found out, but it's not like that detail mattered.

“Did you like it?” Harry asked with a furrow in his eyebrows, not moving a muscle since maybe he didn’t want Louis to let go. What he didn’t know, was that maybe Louis wasn’t that keen on letting go either.

Did Louis like the song? The question wasn’t exactly easy to answer. It would’ve been easier if it was a random song, but it wasn’t. “I would’ve liked it better if it was about somebody else.”

“Fair.” The boy nodded, wincing at the sudden loss of fingers wrapped around his ones. “That’s what I’ve been doing when I was gone. Writing loads, though I’ve started writing about you before that.”

“When?” The question slipped out before he even decided to ask.

“The first time?” Harry asked, getting a nod in response. “Remember when I took those trips to the studio after we’ve…” Another nod cut the boy off. “Then. The material was much different though… more optimistic.”

Louis sighed exasperatedly. This was a lot that was laid onto his shoulders, and that's not something he planned to be doing on his birthday… ever, to be frank. "This is so stupid…" His voice more of a whisper than anything else.

"Sorry, that's just how I cope, I guess. I can't help that." Harry got all flustered again. "I probably could, but that seemed better than drinking myself to death."

It was so idiotic because that's not even what he was addressing and yet, Harry took it the wrong way and Louis was afraid he would make it worse if he tried to explain. "I didn't mean… that." He cursed out his malfunctioning brain and the tongue that got stuck to the roof of his mouth whenever he tried to say something that consisted of more than one syllable. "It's just so dumb. You coming here unannounced and messing with my head and I know there's no reason for me to be mad at you, but somehow I am? And it doesn't make sense, and I want you out of here, but then I think I will fall apart if you leave, so there's a lot happening in my head, and I understand virtually none of it."

He wanted to leave. He needed to, even if he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t exactly the truth he told Harry, though pretending he didn’t know what he was angry about was better than admitting that he was mad at him for leaving, no matter that he gave him every reason to do that and he, himself, wouldn’t have stayed if the roles were switched. That’s why he kept that for himself.

None of his thoughts was logical, and of course, he was aware of that. In his constant reassuring that he was okay and well over the whole Harry debacle, he actually managed to convince himself that it was the truth. He would've looked foolish trying to still hold onto this claim.

That's why he allowed what happened next. With his passiveness, he gave permission for Harry to proceed once he gathered enough confidence to set his palm on the right side of Lou's jaw. His fingers were trembling, trepidation very much evident in his gaze, although Louis didn't get a lot of time to observe it as his eyes fell close without him even consenting to that, just as if his nervous system was working on autopilot, perfectly remembering the routine.

And then, he felt them. The softest lips he ever had pressing on his, the strongest of shivers running through his body once he felt the familiar grip on his waist. It was delicate, foreign in the shyness of it all, something that they have never really explored.

Clinging to each other for dear life as if it was a viable scenario for them to stay connected forever, they were exchanging soft, gentle kisses that slowly progressed into more erratic ones. Louis wasn’t sure whether it was him or Harry who involved a tongue first, therefore stripping the kiss from that layer of innocence but that happened, Louis resorting to dragging his slowly over Harry’s, who was considerably more dominant in the mix.

He never wanted it to end, loving the way Styles’ fingers dug into his flesh, the slow drag of the pad of a thumb settled on his cheek bringing the whole thing together.

With the serious threat of suffocating, he pulled away, just a bit though. Somehow, he was halfway there to laying on the couch with Harry leaning over his body in a very unambiguous way. They just looked at each other, searching for something specific in one another’s eyes, both of them very explicitly screaming that they are on board with whatever endgame was going to come out of this.

Louis knew it was a mistake. He was well aware that it was just the last hurrah before it’s all over, this time for real. Even with that, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, his fingers already on the hem of Harry’s hoodie, the material already halfway up Harry’s back, waiting for the boy to cooperate, though he was quite busy with instigating another kiss and leading his partner.

Panting, Louis pulled away, very impatient to cut to the chase. “Bedroom?” He proposed. If there was no other way, he could see himself being desperate enough to do it on his mother’s couch, But there was an alternative in a shape of a mildly uncomfortable single bed which still seemed better than their current situation.

Without as little as a word, Harry got up, pulling Louis’ hand, as gentlemanly as always. Carefully slaloming around the remnants of the mess that was left to be taken care of in the morning, they quickly found themselves in Louis’ childhood bedroom.

“Hot.” Harry scoffed, the comment clearly shot at the faded Donald Duck sheets Louis remembered his mother getting for him at the brink of the millennium. The mocking festival ended right around there, lasting way less than Tomlinson deserved for it to last.

“Off.” The host resorted to a short command, panted out as they broke whichever kiss it was, faces flushed from oxygen deprivation. “Jesus.” His voice more of a gasp as Harry complied and took his top off, exposing his bare chest all for Lou’s eyes.

Now that he had a good look, he was sure that Harry lost some weight from where he last got a glance at him like that.

Having zero time to waste, already feeling lust getting the best of him, Louis quickly stripped out of his clothes, tossing them on the pile of Harry’s stuff. “Down.” He instructed, Styles gladly obeying the order, his long limbs taking almost the entire bed before he sat and reached his hand for Louis, who was somewhere in the midst of fabricating the plan.

Taking into consideration the restrictions that came from having a kiddie bed instead of the monstrosities of Harry’s beds that had three times the space they could ever use, he dropped the last piece of his clothing and climbed onto the brunette, his knees on both sides of his hips as he leaned to kiss him a little more, trying to carve the feeling of those lips into his brain to keep for later, something he hasn’t gotten the chance of doing with how abrupt their separation was.

Already set of not repeating this mistake, he let his hands wander down Harry’s chest, surprised to find out that perhaps he’s done better job memorising its sculpture than he gave himself credit for. He was trembling all over, Harry’s wandering fingers not helping the situation at all, he would’ve risked stating that they were making it worse.

Was it pathetic of him to want Harry so much that his whole body was shaking? Was it embarrassing that the sole thought of having it all taken away from him was enough for tears to well in his eyes? Probably, but somehow he didn't care about that. He couldn't focus on anything other than Harry. His lips, his hands, the sweetness of chocolate frosting still lingering on his lips, the most perfect musk of his skin and just… everything. Every single thing he could only daydream of to this day.

He wasn’t ready for the freshly regained privilege. Had he known it would happen, he would’ve prepared himself both mentally and physically to take as much out of this to remember for later, but he did not get the chance. Even with the suddenness of it all, he still was determined to keep everything in his memory, though the hazy cloud of lust his head was surrounded by, hasn’t made the task any easier on him.

"I want to have you closer." Harry panted amid the rushed foreplay, his fingers already making advances on Lou's rear end as he reached back, his lips still very much occupied. “Please?” He smiled into the kiss, exposing himself to a small bite on his bottom lip before Louis drew back and straightened his posture, looking at the boy beneath him.

His outlook might have been a bit biased from the months of separation, but he could hardly recall Harry ever looking better than that. With his hair wet and sticking to his face, cheeks slightly sunken in the sad expression and dark shadows under his eyes, he was far from his prime, though Louis couldn’t imagine having him any other way.

Chuckling at the request, very satisfied with the outcome, he scrambled off the singer, padding towards the window, which he pulled open in fear of overheating that even if the temperature was comfortable, leaning on chilly previously, now felt like unbearable swelter, the two of them already glistening with sweat beading on their skin.

He got back to bed quickly, scared that any further procrastination would result in Harry changing his mind. he quickly found his place exactly where the boy wanted him, not asking any redundant questions when his legs were opened with a simple in its familiarity gesture of a big hand, that, with the second one, made quick work of shifting Louis onto one of the Donald Duck pillows.

With the new position, came the ease of preparing the smaller man for the main event they wordlessly agreed on with how absolute desperate they seemed to be for each other. Having performed this part countless times not that long ago, Harry let himself get distracted with the high-pitched mewls that started seeping out of Lou’s bruised, parted lips as soon as he felt the intrusion that was nothing new for him, yet he grew unfamiliar with it during the break.

Grinning fondly, Harry used his saliva as an improvised lubricant and shoved a second finger into his lover, twitching his digits in a way that never failed to get Louis going. He wasn’t mistaken. After the initial gasp, the writer was back to shuddering broken strings of profanity, moaning a bit louder than it would be considered appropriate with walls the thickness of a sheet of paper.

Surprised by the quick succession in which the third finger was added to the equation, Tomlinson gasped, his rounded lips closing around Harry's, who suddenly was there to provide him with distraction. Letting himself get lost in all the attention, Louis completely forgot about the technical side of things. Blindly reaching for the drawer of his end table, he quickly recognised a familiar shape he was looking for.

"This is the best I can do, sorry." He apologised and handed Harry the tube of Aloe Vera he kept by his bed. A trick he used since he familiarised himself with the wonder that lube was, his alternative far more explainable than straight-up dick-shaped lube bottle. "Do you have a condom?" The question left his lips slightly wobbly due to his shuddering breath.

From the quick twitch of Harry’s expression, he knew the luck was not on their side. “Do we need one?” He inquired, something inscrutable in the furrow of his eyebrows as he still scissored his fingers in and out of his partner, creating some space since he apparently still hoped that obstacle wouldn’t make them steer away from the awaited part.

“Not more than we have in September.” Louis answered, a desperate whine concluding his words.

Harry only grinned, uncapping the green tube and spurting a generous dollop of clear gel on his fingers, the watery slick getting rid of the unpleasant drag of his fingers inside Lou. “Same.” He threw, apparently taking some comfort in the fact that his partner has denied himself meaningless sexual contacts throughout their separation.

It was stupid, but maybe Louis was slightly reassured as well. He never thought about it like that, but he supposed he wouldn’t be nearly as happy had he heard that Harry was sleeping around as some sort of rebound. Maybe he was, after all, the jealous one?

“Enough, I need you. Now, please.” Tomlinson hasn’t even flinched at how desperate he came off as, even if normally, he would’ve blushed like crazy at the sound of his own pleading. Now that he thought about it, there probably was no way he could’ve gotten any redder though.

“Okay, mister impatient.” Harry chuckled, pulling his fingers out of the needy boy beneath him to tend to his throbbing erection, brought to its full fruition with the anticipation and the sight of Louis just so… docile, for the lack of a better word.

Putting the improvised lube to use, he gave himself a few leisurely tugs, careful not to pass the point of no return. He quickly moved to the next step and assumed the position, quickly reapplying more Aloe onto Lou's rim just to make sure.

“Come here.” Tomlinson beckoned him, only further amplifying how absolutely, uselessly desperate he was. To be quite honest, he wasn’t even ashamed of it. Because really, it was Harry, he has seen all the versions of Louis from the most pathetically submissive, through everything in between, to the exact opposite, rough Louis that made an appearance from time to time.

There was no hesitation in how quickly the brunette got in the hardly new and adventurous position, that still felt so fucking exciting for the both of them. “How sure of this are you?” In true Harry fashion, the boy felt like it was necessary to ask as if the impatient squirming of his partner hasn’t told him everything there was to tell in terms of consent.

“For the love of God…”

Harry barked out a laugh, clashing his teeth with Louis’ before he pecked him briefly. “I will take that as very sure.” The chuckle subsided when the time has come.

Louis stiffened upon feeling the hard head of Harry’s cock making it past his rim, the boy giving him a second to get used to the feeling. It was refreshing to feel Styles thrust his hips faster than he usually would’ve, only that giving away that Tomlinson wasn’t the only one who was perhaps a bit desperate.

He would've sounded absolutely stupid if he claimed that he and Harry were somehow compatible with how well they've fit together, but it felt like that with how seamlessly he clung to every inch of the boy's shaft.

Feeling the lazy drag inside of him, Louis let himself moan louder than he should have, thinking whether the old ladies were going to be as appreciative of this performance as they were of his professional one. Making himself chuckle, he closed his lips on Harry’s neck, just pecking the skin as the taller boy did all the work for him.

He was tired, okay? With a practically sleepless night and the remodelling he now regretted getting into, he thought he could excuse himself. On top of that, the width of the mattress, or rather the lack of it, restricted the repertoire of possible positions to like… three, and Harry explicitly requested this one, so he had to know what he was getting himself into.

“Oh, God!” Louis let go of everything that was stopping him before, something strangely arousing in getting fucked in his childhood bedroom. Digging his fingernails into Styles’ back, clinging to the boy like his life depended on it, he whined into his partner’s ear, knowing how much Harry loved it.

As shortened as his catalogue of possible moves was, Louis used his voice as a means to perhaps better the entire experience for his partner, though there was no indication that he might have not been enjoying himself.

In the sudden malfunction that erased every thought from his brain, Louis sunk his teeth in the same spot he’s done that previously, not hard enough to draw blood, but there was no way he didn’t leave a mark. Just to make matters worse, he full-on sucked the bite in an effort to make it better… making it worse.

The creaking of the bed was perhaps louder than Lou's moans were, together creating a melody that left no room for hesitancy what it was accompanying, all for the neighbours to hear and complain about. None of them really cared, though.

With erratic, borderline animal-like thrusts, Harry searched for Louis’ lips, sealing them with his own in a kiss, gently caressing the side of Lou’s jaw. “I’m getting there, you?” He asked between kisses.

The question… was godsent for Louis, who was desperately trying to hold out his climax, not wanting to be the one to ruin it for Harry if he wasn't nearly as close as he was. Thankfully enough, they seemed to be approaching the finish line in similar tempo, bizarrely synced like they always were. "Fuck, fuck... fuckk." And there, it was. A shudder shook his whole body, breath getting stuck on its way out, only a pathetic whine making in through his clenched throat.

Putting extra effort into vocalising his journey through the orgasm, he managed to bring it all up for Harry, whose reaction was far lower-pitched than Louis’ was. Something in the shape of a growl, getting lost in the kiss as Harry rode his orgasm in much slower, lazier strokes, before he pulled out, leaving his partner with the unappreciated sense of emptiness, far exceeding the physical realm of things.

Breathless, Louis scooted to the side, barely conscious enough to make some room for Harry who quickly took it, evidently exhausted and rightfully so, with how much more effort it took him to bring them both to the finish line. 

"You've promised you would tell me." Harry's whisper pulled Louis away from the border between the real world and dreamland, the exhaustion getting the best of him even if falling asleep was the last thing he wanted to do.

He was scared to lose the feeling of Styles’ fingers caressing his sides, the weight of his body pressing on him from the lack of space… he wanted to drown in that moment, wanted to keep it forever. Thinking about it… he wouldn’t mind dying like that, feeling that this is as good as his life was going to get.

The fuzziness of his mind made him struggle to get a grasp on what Harry was talking about. He groaned briefly, his palm flying to his nose to scratch the itch from where brunette locks were tickling his nostrils. "Tell you wha… oh." He got it, summoning one of the million conversations they had back in Japan from the archives of his memory. It was so stupid that he remembered so many things that had to do with Harry when he struggled to remember his closest friends' birthdays. "When I realised... it was too late for it to matter."

“It wasn’t.” The brunette answered in a sigh, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the side of Louis’ ribcage, his head resting on the older one’s chest, leg thrown over Louis’, not trying too much to act as if it was only their way of saving space. “It’s never too late to tell somebody you fell for them.”

Louis felt uncomfortable, back to that idiotic state when talking about feelings was just unacceptable, even if he thought he was over that whole debacle. Apparently, he was mistaken, which was quite a theme in his life lately, to be honest. He knew that Harry was waiting for him to say something, he would like the boy to tell him what it was that he wanted to hear since fucking up and losing the weight pressing him into the soft mattress, seemed like one of the biggest tragedies that might happen to him.

He knew that getting so quickly attached to the feeling of having Harry again was foolish of him, he was certain he'll come to regret doing that very soon, not that he even had any say in how his whole system reacted, how it wanted to somehow merge with the boy, so he couldn't leave. Of course, that scenario was straight-up from a fantasy novel, unachievable to the point that it was quickly pushed away and replaced with the next best thing, wrapping the brunette in a tight embrace, hopefully enough to convey everything that was happening in his head when his tongue failed him.

It was pointless for him to bat himself over getting attached when deep down, he knew that he never got the chance to un-attach himself in the first place. As much as he wanted to do that, seeing that this relationship is clearly doomed, he couldn’t help his feelings, which now that he grew aware of them, coming so bizarrely late in his life, might have been even stronger than they were for other people.

Or maybe they weren't, and he just liked to think about himself like he was some kind of special snowflake, that he's the only one who struggles with letting go. Maybe this was going to stick to him for the rest of his life, who knew? They always say that you never really forget your first love, so perhaps it was more common than he thought it was and he was just more keen on pitying himself than he'd like to admit he was.

“So… I did.” His shoulders shrugged, both silhouettes moving with them. “And what does that change?” The scoff spiced with surprising bitterness.

“I don’t know.” Harry’s sigh brushed over Louis’ exposed stomach, the boy pulling the covers higher up because now that they had some time to wind down, the slight draft of the late December air, raised goosebumps on every inch of exposed skin it managed to lick. “You should’ve told me earlier.”

“Why does that matter?”

“You could’ve saved me a lot of time wondering about that.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Nothing is ever obvious with you.” Harry chuckled. “I don’t know if you are even aware of what is happening in your head sometimes.”

“I rarely am, lately anyways.” Louis broke the serious atmosphere with a laugh. “What are the chances that I wake up and you’re not here?” In a sudden rush of confidence, he brought himself to ask a question that he couldn’t possibly answer himself.

Well… he hasn’t gotten the answer, Harry already fast asleep on his chest. It was surprising how fast he has fallen, especially considering how attentive he was just a second ago.

He _kind of_ got the answer. Harry couldn’t possibly have planned on leaving abruptly now that he was already snoring.

As far as he tried to battle the exhaustion, reluctant to sleep through a second of time he was given with Harry, he gave up quicker than he expected himself to, slipping past the sleep curtain in no time.

The second Louis found himself conscious again, he immediately noticed that something was missing. It didn't take him long to pinpoint what it is that should've been there but wasn't. Scrambling out of bed, making himself dizzy with the suddenness of the action, Louis searched for his boxers in the pile of clothes that was half the size it was when he last saw it.

The question that blared in his head was already half answered, the evidence of Harry’s disappearance merely circumstantial but enough to convince him. With the disappointment settled somewhere in the back of his head, faster than he expected it to come, Louis picked up the rest of his clothes to drop them off in the laundry, determined to keep the somewhat tidy state of his bedroom from where he cleaned it two days ago.

Just as he was making his way to the door, he felt something hit his right foot. Suspecting just a piece of rubbish from one of his pockets, he kicked it to the side. Here’s to keeping his room clean.

It quickly has become apparent that it wasn't some candy wrapper or something like that. With the clinking noise that emerged as soon as the object clashed with the steel bedframe, his suspicion has proved to be false. His next bet being a key to his mother's car, something that he didn't exactly want to lose, already hearing his mum's complaining from the future if he actually lost track of it.

Leaning down to uncover the mystery, he found something that he was positive hasn’t belonged to him. Barely detectable from the shaggy texture of the carpet, there was a ring hidden in the shadow cast by the bed. No… not a ring. Now that he got a closer look, he could make out a golden pendant hung on a subtle chain, and the mystery of the owner uncovered itself, though it only gave away how fuzzy his thinking was that he hasn’t guessed it earlier.

Reaching his free hand, he picked up the piece of jewellery from the carpet, focusing on the pendant that not only was the most interesting part but also struck him with how familiar it was the second Louis grazed his fingers over the surface of it.

Because see, he remembered feeling something exactly like that, just a few months ago. It would’ve been stupid of him not to reach his own conclusion when he vividly recalled holding an exact copy of that pendant, the original being a small shell that he found on the beach during his first, and last, date with Harry.

He didn't know why in the hell has he even doubted himself for a second. This was precisely the type of thing Harry would've done with how absolutely hopelessly sentimental he was. He struck as the type to immortalise an important moment exactly like that, though the shell was quite timeless as it was.

With the necklace hung over his palm, deciding to move it somewhere safe not to lose it, he padded out of the bedroom, dropping his clothes off in the laundry, heading straight for the kitchen because he could hear a commotion from there. The only suspect he had, sent a jolt of excitement through his whole body. “I thought you were gone.” The high pitch of his voice did everything there could’ve been done to make him look pathetic in front of Harry.

Now that there was daylight filtering into the kitchen through the windows, some of the awkwardness made it back to Louis, who just kind of stood there, observing every move of a boy, who was already working on breakfast. “Soon, thought we could both use something to eat.”

“Yeah.” Louis agreed, and so did his stomach that growled furiously as a confirmation. “I found… this.” He lifted his hand and let the pendant dangle a bit before he caught it and set next to Harry’s hand that rested on the counter, the second one busy flipping french toast on the pan.

Apparently, the boy thought it was similarly embarrassing as Louis did, his cheeks flooding with pink with as little as a glance at the necklace he now picked up and put over his head, tucking the golden shell underneath his hoodie. "Don't judge me." Harry tried to defend himself, not lifting his gaze from the pan. Louis had a hard time believing that he was _that_ attentive to his toast.

“I am not.” Tomlinson bent the truth just slightly. “This smells… God.” He let himself look into the pan, the pieces of bread sizzling in scorching oil that started setting in Lou’s arteries before he ever had a chance to take a bite. “Do we still have milk?” He inquired and only then caught himself addressing the two of them as a collective unit.

"We left some in the carton yesterday." Harry hadn't commented and picked the last three pieces of toast off the pan, not even bothering with making it all pretty before he carried the plates to the kitchen table.

Louis didn’t know whether it was a good idea for the two of them to sit in the kitchen, deprived of the television that took away some of the weight of the awkwardness, but there wasn’t much to be done now that he was awaited, Harry sat on a pink chair, just as he was the last time he visited.

He gave up his usual green chair, and sat on the yellow one, setting two mugs of milk to the side of each plate, none of the cups embellished with a photograph of a questionably charming, toothless six-year-old. "You want one?" He proposed one of two forks he brought to the table.

Harry accepted, taking the one Louis liked better, but he wasn't going to call that out. The host reached his hand to an ancient radio his mother had for ages and switched it on, skipping a few stations before he found one that wasn't playing _Last Christmas_ every third song. With a murmur of this week’s top twenty pop releases, he could finally start getting through his toast, his procrastinating enough to bring the temperature of his breakfast low enough for him not to burn his tongue.

“Better than cereal?” Harry inquired, Louis making advances on his second toast.

“Definitely.” He admitted in a moan, mouth stuffed with eggy bread. “Though I can hardly see myself maintaining my immaculate physique if I ate that every single day for breakfast.”

“You’re thinner now.” With a furrow in his eyebrows, Harry measured Lou’s face with his gaze. Reaching his hand to the left, he changed the station before the other guy had a chance to even register that a very familiar song had come on, quickly replaced by Mariah Carey’s squeaking that, in Lou’s opinion, was far worse than the first option, though he couldn’t judge the boy for being sick of the song he wrote, recorded and performed around three million times probably.

Unsure of what was a good thing to say in this scenario, Louis shrugged. "You too." He bounced the ball back at Harry, chugging half of his milk at once, the temperature difference, making his teeth ache. "What's that, there's no point in eating when you're not getting fat with somebody else?" The milk spluttered as he scoffed.

“Something like that.” Styles nodded. “When are you picking your mum up?” The subject changed to one not regarding their past.

"Soon." His face quickly gave away that he wasn't exactly excited about reuniting with his mother. "Two, two-thirty as I've been told." His eyes jumped to a cat-shaped clock above the door. Seeing that he had around an hour left, he might have sighed, trying to play it off as a yawn, infecting Harry who, much more politely, blocked his mouth with his palm.

“What did you get her?” The boy got up from the chair, downing the rest of his milk as he swiped the empty dishes and carried them to the sink, where he immediately got busy with washing them.

“We never really went big with the gifts because, well… money.” Louis started his story, walking towards Harry, hopping onto the counter like he always did. “I got her books and a voucher for a massage since now I know how good they are.” Well… the massage he remembered getting wasn’t exactly relaxing or anything like that, but he knew that there were far more enjoyable options to choose. “And a pair of very good, VIP tickets for a Harry Styles show.” He laughed at his own joke, the chuckle spreading onto the other boy.

“Can’t imagine what it took for you to get them.” The brunette set the last mug on the dish dryer, throwing the droplets of water off his hands with frantic shaking.

Risky was the first word he would’ve deemed the answer that popped up in his head. Somehow, he still went for it, already suspecting that this wasn’t going to meet with approval. “Just a bit of prostituting myself, you know how I sometimes do.” His shoulders shrugged flippantly as he hopped off the counter.

"Hey!" Of course, Harry did not appreciate the comedic genius. "Shut it, or I will punch you." There was absolutely no threat in his voice.

"Oh, wow." Louis attempted to whistle, doing quite poorly, but it didn't matter. "That's no way to address a gentleman." He scolded. "Has Chris Brown released some art of seduction handbook I've missed out on?"

It worked, Harry’s chuckling brightening the atmosphere. “Precisely.”

“I better go throw something on.” Tomlinson announced, making his way out of the kitchen. “I’m hardly gentlemanly right now.”

“So indecent.” Harry scoffed. “I think I should get going.” He jumped straight to the subject Louis was very consciously avoiding all throughout the morning.

“Sure.” A shrug did an okay job of making him look unaffected. “Thank you for… everything, really.” He struggled to find the right words. “It was sort of sad sitting here all alone.”

“No problem.” The boy pulled his palms out of the pockets of his sweatpants, reaching for the coat he left thrown over the back of the couch, pushing hands through the sleeves. “You can come too.” He threw in the air, putting his shoes on where Louis followed him to the door. “To the show.” Harry elaborated. “Multiple if you feel like it.”

Louis could hardly see a reason for him to go see a show he has seen over a dozen times already. "I'll see what I can do." On the other hand, he was glad he had an option. He still quite vividly remembered Marco getting the tickets for all three of Lou's friends, ones the boy apparently promised them at some point during their one and only hangout. As anybody could imagine, Louis' name wasn't present on any of the tickets, quite explicitly showing that he wasn't welcome to tag along, even using his pal's plus-one ticket.

“I’ll make sure your name is on the list.” The brunette smiled and pulled the door opened, letting himself out. “Merry Christmas.”

"You too." One last longing look and Harry was gone, taking his mother's Tupperware containers with him.

Louis wasn’t appreciative of being back on his lonesome, though he knew he could use the extra few minutes he had before he needed to head out, suspecting his mother wouldn’t be ecstatic about him being late to pick her up, still quite a to-do-list to get through before they can even think about sitting for the dinner.

Adapting a surprisingly fast tempo, he quickly got the rest of the painting equipment out of the way and hopped into the shower, the memory of last night making him feel disgusting with himself. Doing a few clumsy squats while the water poured down on him, trying to get the waddle out of his step, he might have succeeded, or it was just something he imagined.

He ended up using like a half of the bottle of his body wash before he was at least content with the state he was in. It’s not even that he felt dirty, he knew he wasn’t anymore, but there was something bizarre that spilt over him once Harry closed the door behind himself, though he wasn’t going to ponder over that, not keen on ruining Christmas for himself.

He quickly threw some pieces of leisurewear onto himself, not being one of those posh people that dressed smartly for that occasion, he managed to get a few more minutes in the bathroom, which he spent haphazardly blowdrying his hair, knowing that once he goes out with his head wet, he was guaranteed a cold.

Looking around whether there was no evidence of Harry ever being there, already set on not telling his mum about his little birthday adventure, he tossed sad-looking remnants of chocolate cake they haven’t managed to get through and took the bin bag with himself as he went outside on his merry way to collect his mother from the hospital.

Maybe it didn't look like he did, but he missed his mum very much, her absence especially prominent considering what day it was. Sure, he saw her just yesterday, but for some reason, it felt like ages had passed since the two of them separated.

“Cinnamon?” Johannah inquired as soon as she stepped foot into her own apartment, impressively quickly taking note of the unusual, warm tinge of spice that now she pointed it out, Louis could smell as well.

Hauling her overnight suitcase into his mum’s bedroom, Louis made a pit stop in his own room, opening a window in case his mother’s nose is just as sensitive to the smell of straight-up sex, which the room reeked of, very unsettling in place that looked like it belonged to a child.

“You’ve made that?” The woman asked as soon as Louis got into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Coke from the fridge. Only when he was addressed, he let his eyes trail to his mother, a piece of leftover toast between her fingers.

In a sudden panic, not seeing any other explanation, he nodded. "Yeah." He dove deeper into the lie. "These are the better ones, when I got the hang of the pan. You should've seen the first attempt." Unsure of how he was doing, lying in his mother's face, he decided to stop right around there.

Seemingly believing the lie, the mother finished the last bite and washed greasy hands with the dish soap. “You’ve rubbed the turkey how I asked you, have you?” She raised her plucked eyebrow as if she expected getting a negative answer.

Little did she know, Louis remembered to massage the carcase of the small bird his mother got from whichever relative it was that had connections to somebody with a turkey farm. Apparently, his mum was all there for the all-organic experience, going out of her way to obtain the roast instead of just popping into Sainsbury's like everybody else has. Louis couldn't say he cared too much. In his head it would've been much more logical to go with a chicken, the two of them absolutely not able to get through a whole turkey, no matter how small, not to mention all the sides that were arguably better than the meat itself.

He stopped bringing up his argument years ago, when he got the message after three or four consecutive years of his mother giving him a bullshit lecture about traditions and whatnot. Fair, they just froze the rest, never wasting the leftovers but still… it was just such a hassle.

Taking the note of the time, Louis opened the fridge and pulled the bird in question from the bottom shelf, uncovering it to warm up a bit before it's roasting time. It was late, sure, maybe he should've done this before he left, but then, in Tomlinson's household, they sat down for dinner quite late as it was. "I probably should go pick up that devil spawn of yours." He sighed, regretting taking the task upon himself because with the day being even colder than the previous one, he felt like doing everything _but_ leaving. On the other hand, he knew better than to believe that he wouldn’t have gone even if he hasn’t promised he would.

“Hey!” His mother slapped his bum with a twisted tea towel, not sharing her son’s outlook on the pet that, in her eyes, could not do any wrong.

Louis only yelped and got back into his coat, tightly wrapping a scarf around his neck as he left the flat, on his foot making his way down the street to pick up a creature that dethroned him a while ago from the spot of his mother’s perfect little baby.

“Was it worth stressing out so much?” Louis asked with his face stuffed with food, slouched into the end of the couch to the point where his spine was more than likely moulded to the cushioning at this point.

His mother shot a fierce side-eye at him, apparently still influenced by the irritation that built up in her with every second of delay that resulted from altogether disarray that was a part of every single task Louis was assigned.

Sure, maybe they could have been more mindful of the clock, but Louis could hardly see how this mattered when there were just the two of them. Now that he thought about it, he could make a case for their late dinner being more of an advantage since the good movies only started airing when most of the families were already done with eating.

“God, I’m knackered.” He complained, pushing his emptied plate onto the coffee table, sort of ready to accept some bashing from his mother who, objectively, has done far more work than he has.

“Thought you would be.” She only commented. A questioning look was thrown at the woman who now laid on the couch, pampering her beloved spaniel with all the pats and belly rubs her two hands were able to give. “I’ve met a neighbour while taking the bins out.” She elaborated and Louis kind of knew what she was getting at, his face already getting hot. “I’ve heard it’s been quite loud here last night.”

The man sighed exasperated, stalling a bit, so he has more time to think of an excuse. "Complaints on Christmas Day? For the love of God…" His head shook in disbelief. "Maybe I had music on a bit loud when I was painting. I don't know."

Thinking that he succeeded, Louis started nibbling on, what it felt like, his hundredth mince pie. Too tired to keep his head upright, he let it roll to the side, resting it on his right shoulder. The change of position was mindless, his brain too compromised to even think about it.

"So, the music has done this to you?" The woman pointed at her son's neck, and the man immediately covered it with his hand, only amplifying his mum's suspicion.

He could've easily brushed it off as something else that it was if only his reaction wasn't more incriminating than the marks on his neck were. Because really, the blush of the circles was barely distinguishable from the shade of his complexion, far more explainable than his work on Harry's neck.

Aware that there was no way he could possibly get out of his predicament, he decided to stay silent, already set on not giving his mum more reasons to suspect him of indecent behaviour, which, of course, he was guilty of, but that wasn't important.

She… let him off the hook, which shocked the man because that was simply not what his mother ever did. What he didn’t know though, was the fact that this was hardly the first thing she let slide, starting from a white, inconspicuous envelope she found before her son managed to hide it from her. That object alone was enough for the woman to reach her own conclusions as to what has actually transpired over the course of her absence. 

Knowing how big of a toll the relationship with that particular visitor has taken on her son. The woman didn’t know how to feel about that particular reunion, not looking forward to her son getting hurt again, whatever it was that happened between the two, that particular story kept from her. She trusted Louis’ choices though, so she decided to let the issue go and let the man handle things on his own, like an adult, he was, didn’t matter that she had a hard time seeing her baby as one.


	34. Chapter 34

"With all due respect, I'm positive that you're going to have a great time, but I hardly see myself fitting with a bunch of moms." Louis made his case, sat on the couch as his mother was already getting her coat on. "You're sure you don't want me to drop you off?" He inquired, slightly unsure whether he wanted his mum to drive two hours on her own, especially with the roads as slippery as they were lately.

“Don’t be silly.” Jay protested, wrapping a cashmere scarf around her neck. “I feel bad leaving you here all alone.” She voiced her concern, making a beeline for the couch, just staring at her boy, rethinking her plans for the evening.

“I am not alone.” He argued, shooting a look at Shelly who laid on the couch, taking the space at his feet, the same amount fond of Louis as it was the other way around.

“I left the bottle in the fridge, don’t forget to give her some more in two hours, yeah?” The woman made sure her son remembered the very responsible task she assigned him.

“Of course, keep the dog stoned.” Louis scoffed. “I’ve set an alarm.”

“It’s not pot, Louis.”

“I was not talking about the oil.” He laughed, winking at his mother, just mocking her a bit. “Maybe it would work better if I got her high.”

Her irritation was visible in that groove in between her eyebrows. “No, Louis.”

Of course, he had no intention to do that. His mother clearly thought he was an idiot. “I’m kidding!” Another laugh took the seriousness of the talk away. He reached his hand to catch his mother’s. “I wouldn’t waste perfectly good weed on that bitch.”

The woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling and leaned down, kissing her boy’s temple. “Love you, Happy New Year.” She rubbed her lipstick off her son’s skin with a thumb and started distancing herself, making advances at the door.

“You too.” Louis smiled at her. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He exclaimed when his mum was already halfway out of the door.

Suspecting that this was his last chance to do that before people kick off with fireworks, Louis jumped off the couch, gaining himself a curious look from the intelligent eyes of his mother’s spaniel. “How do you feel about a walk?” The dog started jumping, scratching his torso with its sharp nails. “Come on then.” He encouraged and padded to the door, shoving hands into sleeves of his puffy jacket, harnessing his mother’s pet, knowing better than to believe she would stay put on a day as difficult as this one.

A shiver shook his whole body once he stepped out on the pavement, exchanging New Year’s wishes with a neighbour living two floors above his mother. Deciding that staying close was his best option, he kept the walk to the street his mother lived on, letting the dog use the strip of dead grass as its personal potty. Thankful that there wasn’t anything he had to pick up, though scared that this would mean the dog will take care of its business inside, he let himself be led back into the apartment by Shelly who pulled him with more urgency with every distant bang.

"Oh, would you shut up already!?" Louis growled, his voice groggy with sleep he was just barely, _very violently_ snapped out of by a yapping devil incarnation Shelly was. “It’s just fireworks. Have you died all the previous times this has happened?” He tried to instigate an argument with the dog that ran around like an idiot, jumping at the door, creating more and more scratches for his mother to have to paint over.

Turning to the other side, Louis covered his whole head with a pillow, that solution not doing a lot in the matter of filtering the noise out. The excuse of the barrier also made it possible for him to catch knocking on his door that broke out after a few seconds. Apparently, the dog hasn't woken him up for no reason.

Expecting another complaint from the unbearable neighbour, most likely about the dog this time, Louis threw himself off the couch, making his way to the door. "Back off!" With a foot, he gently moved the pet out of his way and opened the door, blocking the gap, so the guest doesn't get bitten, no matter how tempting it was to let Shelly sink her teeth into a neighbour's calf.

"Hey." Louis heard the voice before he even got the chance to comprehend what was happening. A bizarrely familiar scene playing out in same exact words and place as it had a week ago.

“Thank God.” He couldn’t help himself but voice the relief he felt when he discovered that he didn’t have to apologise to an old lady, at least not just yet. “I mean, hi.” He laughed at his impeccable eloquence. “Come in.” Already halfway out of the door, he remembered Shelly who was forgotten as soon as Louis saw Harry at the door. "Wait a second." The sliver of agility he possessed made a cameo when he, quite smoothly, picked the dog up, fully stepping out of the way so the guest could come in. "Oh shut up, it's just Harry." He addressed both the dog and maybe a bit himself too, rabbit heart jumping in his chest. "You know Harry."

Seeing that the dog has calmed down, the threat of her biting mostly gone, Louis let her sniff the boy, the identification apparently successful. “Beat it now.” The attempt at chasing the dog away was a mild success, Shelly back to hiding under whichever piece of furniture she managed to fit herself. “Or is it she who you came to see?” He asked Harry, surprisingly relaxed around the boy.

“Exactly, Johannah mentioned she could use company tonight.” Harry chuckled, taking his jacket off, this time hanging it by the door.

“So that’s who you are now? A dog sitter?” Lou asked, accepting the champagne bottle that was handed to him by his guest. “They don’t sell ones like this in Tesco.” He whistled as he spun the bottle in his hands. “Is it a good moment to tell you that I don’t really like champagne?”

Following Louis to the kitchen and leaning on the doorframe, Harry observed the man putting the bottle into the refrigerator. "I don't think I could count how many times you've said that and then we ended up getting drunk on the thing you've claimed to hate."

Well… he wasn't wrong, was he? Maybe in an extravagant world of Harry Styles, one was allowed to fuss about what they were getting drunk on, but Louis in his twenty-nine years on this planet, has learned to settle for things that weren't ideal.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Styles.” His shoulders shrugged, the man turned to face Harry, leaning on the counter, hands clasped at the very edge of it. “So, is this how it’s going to be? Should I expect you dropping by on Good Friday? Easter?” The question had no malice behind it, he hoped Harry wouldn't take it the wrong way, especially considering the boy’s tendency to overthink things.

He didn't look offended, a playful smirk on his lips sending Lou's frets out of the window. "No, I don't think you have to worry about that." His raspy chuckle pleasurably tickling Tomlinson's eardrums. Oh, how bad he misjudged Lou's attitude towards those unexpected visits. "I didn't really feel like going out today."

“Aren’t you _technically_ out?”

“Okay, I am.” He rose his eyes to the ceiling. “But it’s not the same.”

“You still drove two hours to get here.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

"I'm not trying to!" Louis threw his hands in the air. "If I understand correctly… does that mean I am better company than your mum's friends?" His eyebrow raised as he teased the guest.

“You’re better company than most of the people I know.” The boy admitted almost mindlessly. “Any thrilling plans for today?”

“I was going to watch a movie.” His eyes darted to the clock, the sudden blaring of his phone scaring the shit out of him with the alarm he set for another dose of Shelly’s medication.

“Mind if I join you?” Harry asked, foolishly unsure whether he was going to be allowed to stay as if he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Louis was already ruffling through the fridge, trying to find the bottle of CBD oil his mother believed to be some kind of magical remedy for her dog’s anxiety. “I guess you can stay if you _have to_.” His laughter faded out before it reached the boy.

Standing on his tippy toes, Tomlinson reached for the peanut butter jar, spooning a sizable dollop onto a plate, mixing in the carefully measured amount of oil into the butter. "Come here, idiot." He summoned the dog, his calling hardly necessary when the clatter of the plate on the floor already had Shelly running in from the living room, nearly ramming into Harry's legs. For a dog that was supposed to be so scared, she was wat too excited about the treat.

"So what are we watching?" Harry inquired once they made their way to the couch, a beer in a hand of each as they slouched into opposite ends of the sofa.

Louis reached for the remote and lowered the volume of the music he put on as something for his mum’s dog to focus on. “I don’t know if there’s anything good on the telly.”

“There’s always Netflix.” The boy proposed, taking a sip of his beer.

Louis rolled his eyes, thinking that Harry should’ve known his answer to that. “I don’t have Netflix.”

“You can still use mine, I don’t care.”

“So what, you have a side profile for all people you’ve ever fucked?” The writer asked, finding himself extremely amusing when Harry most certainly hasn’t.

The boy just shot at him a stern look and watched as Louis logged onto Harry’s Netflix account, surprised that he still remembered the password.

As it usually happens with Netflix, it took solid fifteen minutes before Louis even narrowed their choice to three movies that seemed interesting enough. Let’s be real, spending even a minute picking a movie was a total waste of time, it’s not like Louis was going to focus on anything but Harry. He was sure as fuck that the brunette didn't come all the way there to see a B-list movie.

It was silent when he finally picked something, apart from the constant crunching of snacks that Lou stocked up on for that occasion. And of course, he bought far too much, but for once it worked to his advantage.

Only when the first movie came to an end, Harry realised that something was wrong, confirming his suspicion that they have, in fact, missed midnight with a glance at his phone. It was quite ridiculous that both of them completely ignored the fireworks galore that must've happened, just as it has every single year. But that's how the cookie crumbled so now, they were sitting on the couch, passing the champagne bottle between each other, celebrating almost an hour later, and it worked too.

Fine, Louis didn't have fancy glasses worthy of the drink that must've cost multiple of what it should have, but he could hardly see taking swigs straight from the bottle as the next best thing. Apparently, Harry hasn't shared his take on that subject, and Louis hasn't cared enough to protest.

Would it make him look pathetic if he admitted that he had a smidge of hope for a midnight kiss? The anticipation was quite desperate after how their last meeting has concluded. If yes… well, oops. None of that happened. Not at midnight that they've missed, not quarter to one when they've realised their mistake.

After exchanging the most boring wishes and getting through the whole bottle of champagne, Louis’ sips significantly smaller than Harry’s since he wasn’t a fan of the drink, the shorter man laid on the couch, hanging his legs over the back of it. “Do people like you even make resolutions?” He inquired after a while, some music channel buzzing in the background.

He could see the furrow in the boy’s eyebrow as he looked down at his companion. “People like me?” His face twisted in a grimace.

“Well yeah… folks who already have everything.”

A sigh unloaded Harry's frustration, the source of it oblivious to Louis. "I guess I have some."

Now he had Lou’s full attention, where previously the writer was quite distracted with the ceiling. No word needed to be spoken, his curious gaze enough of a question in itself.

Styles drifted away for a second, evaluating something in his head. “I want to learn sign language.” His broad shoulders shrugged. “What about you?”

“Work less.” Louis shot out the answer. “Maybe not that… Stop picking up those shitty gigs I’ve been doing lately.”

“What have you been working on?” Genuine interest made it through the timbre of Harry’s voice.

Quickly going through the list of copywriting jobs he's picked up since he ended up back on unemployment, Tomlinson tried to filter out those he enjoyed the least. "You know how each can of paint has this absolutely unnecessary bullshit description of the colour? Supple flowery meadow on a bright July evening and that kind of stuff? As if people didn't have fucking eyeballs to judge for themselves? I've been writing those, and that's… awful."

“How does that work? With you being halfway there to colour blind?”

“Good enough, I’ve been doing that for years.” He scoffed in an answer. “Thesis for students tend to be horrible too. When they try to correct you, thinking they know better than various sources I’ve used. I’m not doing these anymore though.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It’s a grey area.” There was the slightest tinge of hesitancy in his words, never really digging up the answer to that question. “I’m giving up smoking too.”

“Good… great.” The boy commented. “Let’s hope it goes better than the last time, yeah?”

The unsolicited remark gained the boy a side-eye from his companion who was well aware that maybe his previous attempts at cutting the habit weren't too successful, but that was no reason to call him out! "It's easy to judge when your concern is speaking _only_ two languages.”

“That’s not true.” The brunette argued. “I, too, have a habit to kick.”

In his face, Louis immediately saw that Harry regretted his words. Too tipsy to care about being polite, he decided to dig into that. “And what would that be?” Arms crossed on his chest as he waited for an answer, his interest loud and clear in the cocked eyebrow.

"This…" Styles gave up quicker than expected, knowing all too well that he stood no chance against Lou's stubbornness. "You." In the green of his eyes, it was evident that he expected to be laughed at, growing increasingly more unsure with each second Lou hasn't said anything.

“And you have the _audacity_ to tell me I’m bad at sticking to my resolutions?” He laughed, just to take some load off the conversation.

“It always is like that. You decide to drop eating junk or whatever but after that one last hurrah when you go all out and eat your way through the entire McDonald’s menu or whatever.” His demeanour became bizarrely flippant, a careless shrug very indicative of that.

Louis remained in his idiotic position, eyes stuck to Harry who now, with the seriousness of his words catching up to him, started fumbling with his long fingers.

He tried to make sense of the words he just heard. First, kudos for that gastronomy metaphor, though he didn’t know how he felt being compared to a Big Mac. He didn’t spend too much time pondering over that one though, quickly moving to trying to make out what exactly Harry meant by ‘all out’ and what it would mean in their situation.

It surprised him quite a lot how at peace he was with this being their last meeting. He already said his final goodbye to this boy about five times, so maybe it was him being subconsciously ready for the end. Either that or delusion that Harry was going to come back, just as he always has.

Still stuck in his own head, Louis only snapped out of it when Styles picked back up his speech. "Which is why I hate how weird we are around each other." The frustration was visible in his features. "I don't know what I was expecting, especially with how awkward it was the last time. I kind of hoped it would go back to normal, I guess?"

"Define normal." Tomlinson scoffed. "We've been through a couple of those." This whole time, he thought he was extremely relaxed around Harry, their banter and bickering reminiscent of how they've been by the end of his stay in Harry's LA house. Apparently, he was mistaken, or that was simply not enough for the other guy.

"Yeah." Harry looked around the living room, hanging his eyes on the various trinkets Louis' mother had accumulated throughout her life, some of which very obviously handmade, the boy unable to hide the smirk that crept onto his lips once he realised that it must've been his friend who made them for his mother. "There is a slight problem with my resolution, though. One that I haven't really seen coming but should have."

“What problem?” Louis questioned, still shockingly composed while being well… using word dumped didn’t seem like a misuse of it, didn’t matter that it was ages since he was actually dumped by Harry.

"I've only come to realise that I don't really feel like letting go."

“That’s how it often happens with habits.” Tomlinson remarked. “Do I want to stop smoking? No, of course, I do not.” He used an example from his life to help the boy follow.

Louis from a few weeks ago would've kicked him straight in the bollocks if he heard what he was doing. Because really, he was persuading Harry, with whom he was still so obviously in love, to let him go. What was he thinking?!

Not about himself, that's for sure. The selfless part of him making a cameo in such a bad moment. He'd much rather drop a tenner into some homeless person's cup, but there he was, convincing himself that Harry needed to let go of the past before he could ever think of being happy again. It didn't even matter that the start of brunette's route to normality would, most likely, cost him his own sanity. It was the least he could do for him.

“Smoking is bad for you, though. You’re not bad for me.” Something desperate made it through the usual rasp, sounding as if Harry tried to reassure himself in that belief. “Opposite, to be honest.”

“I think I could build a good case against that.” Louis, let the heavy obstruction in his throat get the best of him, rendering him silent, with manic stubbornness following the shadows cast on the ceiling, knowing that he’d come to regret it if he even as little as glanced at Harry’s disappointed expression that was bound to be there for him to look at.

“I thought about that a lot.” Styles broke the silence after good five minutes of them subconsciously ignoring a song, doing such a good job, that neither would be able to identify the track even with a gun to their heads. “And as much as I don’t like the idea… I don’t think I would’ve acted any different in your situation.” Louis finally got an answer to a question asked in November. “Not if it was my mum…” His hair bounced as he shook his head.

And now that he had Harry answering him… he didn't like the answer. It wasn't even the fact that it somehow tainted that idealised image of Harry that he had. His reluctance to accept the answer came straight from the fact that he simply did not believe him. "No, Harry." He found himself denying. " _You_ wouldn't, and we both know that."

Louis was back to beating himself over the issue he thought he was getting close to stopping overthinking. It was another heavy load on him, adding up to the one that settled on him once he learned that this was the last time he was seeing Harry.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised that their conversation ended up on the territory of those difficult ones. If anything, it almost felt comforting, in that bizarre sense coming straight from the fact how familiar it was to feel like that after having a heart-to-heart with that boy.

Harry couldn’t delve deeper into his claim after he’s been called out on the lie. Perhaps he wouldn't have done exactly what Louis has done, maybe he would’ve tried to come up with a different solution to that quandary if he was the one who found himself in it.

What Styles didn't know though, was the fact that Louis drained the shallow well of ideas how he could get himself out of that deadlock, at the end reaching a decision to stick with the project that wouldn't tarnish the boy's image, while it could take a severe toll on his own career. It wasn't even a hard choice either when he made it. 

Maybe if Harry had known all of that, he wouldn’t have to go on such extensive thought processes to justify Tomlinson’s behaviour. After all, in his head, Louis, in September, was in the midst of writing a book consisting of the incriminating details he managed to catch on tapes similar to the one Harry caught a glimpse of. Had he known this was miles away from the truth, the whole situation might have looked entirely different.

This was not his fault that he knew only how much his previous manager had told him, which was not much at all. He couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to hear a word of Louis’ when he discovered the secret stash on the man’s computer either.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” Harry inquired after they’ve spent another hour in silence, watching old episodes of _South Park_ Louis stumbled upon while browsing.

“Always.” The writer unglued himself from the telly, suddenly extremely eager to hear whatever it was that Harry had to confess.

Styles chuckled at his enthusiasm, cheeks flooding with red as he shook his head, visibly regretting the choice of speaking at all. "It might have been me who gave my mother the idea to even have the party Jay has gone to." Now that he admitted it, he stopped being so sheepish, ready to face whatever snarky remark that was being prepared for him, glad to accept whatever it was that Louis had to say because, with all that weirdness around them, the teasing was the thing that brought them back the most.

“Sneaky.” Tomlinson only scoffed, underwhelming reaction coming straight from the fact that he was half asleep already. “Is it lame if I call it a night here?” He raised his hand to rub the sleep off his eyes, rather unsuccessfully.

"Three is a good score, I think." Styles scrutinised the involuntary host with his gaze. "Especially for an old man like yourself." A familiar smirk made it onto his lips before he yawned, proving himself to be more tired than he claimed to be while simultaneously infecting his friend, who started scrambling off the couch.

After carrying the evidence of their mischief to the bin, Louis, surprisingly conscious, started running around the flat. It was really quite evident that Harry was in no shape to even dream about going home, he didn't have to ask. Already set on taking his mother's bed, he quickly tidied the floor of his old bedroom, making the bed that despite the linen change, still managed to be even more embarrassing with _Bob The Builder_ sheets that took the place of the _Donald Duck_ ones.

Carrying a modest bundle consisting of a towel and a spare toothbrush, Louis made his way into the living room, finding Harry sitting still where he left him. He tossed the objects onto the boy’s lap, immediately gaining his attention. "We both know you'll wake up earlier than me so please, help yourself to anything that's in the fridge." His declaration met with the tiniest furrow of Harry's eyebrows. "Make yourself at home, as they say. I'll be in my mum's room if you need anything, yeah?" The boy nodded. "Or maybe I should… her bed is bigger, do you want it?" He asked, unsure of how to behave.

“No, yours is just fine.” They just blinked at each other lazily and there, Louis headed to his mum’s bedroom, refilling Shelly’s water bowl in the process.

Louis got into the bed immediately after he got into the room, leaving the door slightly opened because he hasn't exactly felt like constantly getting up to be Shelly's personal doorman. With only the faintest murmur of running water that reached his ears, Harry apparently desperate enough for a shower to have one at three in the morning, Tomlinson started drifting away, all snuggled up into his mother's bedding.

Now that he thought about it, it was really quite unfair that his mother’s linens were this pleasant while his were a nineties’ relict. But then, he agreed with the logic that perhaps splurging on something that would be used like six times a year was quite pointless, so cartoon bedding it is.

Suddenly feeling very uneasy about the events of that peculiar evening, he struggled to wind down, hovering above the border of sleep and reality for longer than he should have, especially considering his initial sleepiness. He didn't like not knowing what conclusion Harry ended up reaching, whether his conflict was even resolved. If it was, Louis desperately wanted to know what the decision was, and even though it sort of concerned him, he really had no right to feel like he was entitled to any explanation because he was not. If anything, he was already treated better than he deserved to be treated.

He was still pondering over the topic of Harry that dominated his whole mind for months now, when he heard barely-there knocking on the door. At first, he thought it was just the dog, only then realising that Shelly was snoring at the foot of the bed. "Yeah?"

With that, Harry let himself inside, only black briefs on his narrow hips as he sat at the edge of the bed, using the free space since Louis was sprawled in the middle.

Tomlinson wasn’t looked at, and he _hated_ it. Harry just sat there, his back on full display in front of a writer who was too busy wondering what prompted that visit to stare.

“Remember when you asked me what did it change that you loved me?” The deep sigh that followed, only exposed how brittle his composure was, how much it cost him to ask this question.

“I do.” He answered, having no clue what the boy was getting at.

Maybe he wasn't going to find out at all, Harry already getting up from the bed, taking his long strides towards the door. "I don't know about you, but I think it changes a whole fucking lot." And then… he was gone, the quiet click of Louis' bedroom door announcing the end of that particular conversation.

A conversation that with its brevity, felt tons heavier than the previous one, the weight of it the only thing keeping Louis on that mattress, even though, deep down, he knew that was not what he wanted to do, not what he should’ve done either. Very conscious of his mistake, he stayed put, very frazzled with everything that has been laid onto him that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't the longest chapter, but I'm not doing double since there's still a few things I want to tweak in the last one.  
>  Keep tight x


	35. Chapter 35

It’s been tough getting back to work after the week he took off for Christmas, but the finite supply of money he had collected on his account, hasn’t exactly left a lot of choice since as tempting as not working sounded, homelessness was quite a few notches less enticing. 

To be fair, saying that he was working was very distant from the truth as it was. Maybe he was, for a total of an hour before he got frustrated and closed the document that has been taunting him for two days already. Thankfully enough, the deadline was far enough that his procrastinating hasn’t posed a serious threat of any delay, given that he doesn’t continue getting distracted with thousand better things he could find for himself on the internet, one of which various, incredibly idiotic quizzes that he already wasted quite a while on.

Just like now, sitting on the couch, he was building an imaginary house with every tap on the touchpad of the laptop that was one of two things that were left for him after the fiasco of his biggest professional endeavour to date. Apparently, his choices of random interior design shots enough credentials for the website to give him an estimate when he was going to get married. 

Of course, he knew that was a total waste of time, he wasn’t that big of an idiot. But lately, struggling a bit with the project, he found himself finding the most pointless pastimes worthy of his time. 

Still in the pyjamas he only broke out during winter, he started thinking about breakfast, quite discouraged once he realised that due to his negligence, there was barely anything in the fridge, even milk's gone bad during his absence. Just when he was about to get up to check whether there was something left of the non-perishables, perhaps some canned caricature of soup or crumbs at the bottom of a cereal box, his phone started buzzing, stuck between the pillow and his thigh.

Struggling to retrieve the device, he ended up answering without having a glance at the screen. "Hello?" With slight chances of the call being work-related, he opted for keeping it professional, not very keen on explaining to another boss why exactly he called him a wanker (yes, that might have happened once or twice). 

It wasn’t any of his current employers though, the identity of the caller uncovered once a very raspy ‘hey’ has hit Louis’ ear. He would like to say that he was incredibly surprised hearing Harry’s voice on the other side of the line, but he wasn’t. 

Not even a week has passed since New Year’s Eve the two of them spent together, yet they’ve managed to go through a whole journey from that evening.

Louis still vividly remembered the disappointment that rushed over him when he woke up in an empty flat, his overnight visitor gone without as little as a goodbye. It only hurt him more because from that disappearance, he assumed that Harry decided to follow through with his resolution, and no matter that this was exactly what he should’ve been expecting, he kind of hoped something in their conversation changed the brunette’s mind, apparently not. His reaction really the only thing he needed to deem his previous claim that he’s at peace with the ending, a complete piece of bullshit.

The whole of New Year's Day was quite lethargic as a result of being dropped, not even suddenly, but that's how he felt, thankfully having hangover he hadn't suffered from as an excuse when his mother inquired. The next one wasn't better either. But he tried to seem fine, to the best of his abilities pretending like he hasn't seen Harry since November, doing a fairly good job if he was the judge of that.

This brief, dull period ended quickly, a late-night call, the cause of that. Of course, it was Harry. Harry, who feeling braver without actually having Louis by his side, the separation apparently making the whole thing a bit less real, has gone on a half an hour-long rant about everything that he's gone through because of Louis, breaking and glueing back the writer's heart approximately seventy times in the process. 

It was challenging to listen to what Harry had to tell him, even though he was already more or less aware of the things he's been told, the conclusions reached somewhere during the separation. But if Harry needed to get something off his chest, something he felt like Louis should have heard, he was there to listen to it, even at the cost of his own heartache. 

All of the suffering, proved to be so worth it, when by the end of their conversation, over an hour in, Harry promised to call again, claiming that he 'doesn't feel like himself without this friendship'. And he kept his word, not that it was shocking that he has.

Friendship was not the word Louis would’ve used to describe his ideal arrangement with the boy, but he was far from a position he could complain about getting a time of the day from him. It was fine as long he gets to keep him around, and considering how frequent their contacts were lately, he was optimistic that this was going to be the case. Reminiscing the time before Tokyo housed them, he couldn’t say he didn’t like their casual relation either way.

“You’re in London?” Harry’s question pulled him away from his thoughts, a yawn he hasn’t managed to stifle made it through the line. 

He would’ve lied, if he claimed he wasn’t getting excited already, foolishly anticipating the call since Harry promised that he would ring again. "I am. Yes." 

“Busy?” 

"If doing an online quiz that will tell me when I'm going to get married counts, then yes. Extremely." His own eyes rolled to the ceiling as he clicked the last option and a huge twenty-five shone before his eyes.

“So sorry to bother you then.” Harry chuckled. “I have some downtime and thought lunch would be a good idea? How do you reckon?” 

“Is it really lunchtime already?” His face grimaced as eyes darted to the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Yep. “God, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” His head shook in disbelief that was quite stupid, it wasn’t like him getting up at noon was some kind of anomaly.

“I’m taking it as yes?” 

“Sure.” Lou’s answer more of a scoff, the man already scrambling off the couch.

"How much do you need to get yourself ready?" The boy asked, and they moved to arranging the pick-up.

"When are you leaving?" Louis inquired, eyes focused on his feet as he and Harry were taking these bizarrely synchronised steps towards the car that the boy may or may not have parked incorrectly, unable to find an open spot.

The street was busy around them, people rushing back to work after their short lunch breaks, their fate significantly less envy-inducing as Louis’. First of all, his break had absolutely no limit, second, he was eating breakfast at lunchtime since he could just simply wake up at noon with no repercussions, and with all of that, the company he had was arguably the best part. 

He let his eyes wander to the left, almost walking into a girl as he got distracted by Harry in all of his glory. Of course, he was a step or two behind the boy, unable to catch up with his freakishly long strides since his legs simply could not do that. It worked to his advantage, though. Yeah, _maybe_ he was staring at the boy's bum, the corduroy trousers in the ugliest shade of brown imaginable, doing wonders for his rear end, skin-tight, accentuating every flex of his muscles as he walked. Maybe it would be weird of him to stare, but then, he kind of felt excused considering the history they had.

He almost scoffed at the brunette's outfit when he first laid his eyes on it. Sure, the bold fashion choice was the last thing he was concerned with, but he had a little chuckle at the wide legs of the trousers and the plaid shirt put on top of a white tee. But _somehow,_ it worked, as it always had. Harry Styles should be the one and only person on this planet with a pass to wear corduroy unironically. Grandfathers all over the world must’ve hated him for invading their brand and making it his own so effortlessly. 

"Monday." Harry regained his friend's attention just when they were getting into the car, the boy swiping a slip of paper that was tucked between his wiper and a windshield. And of course, Louis threw the loudest 'I've told you so' his eyes were able to throw because he warned him that he was going to get a ticket. “Oh, shush!” Harry rolled his eyes and slipped the piece of paper into the pocket on his chest. “Early morning. Was sort of hoping that maybe I could see you tomorrow.” 

The boy buckled up and almost immediately rolled his car off the curb, eyes focused on the road, fingers tapping on the wheel as he not-so-patiently waited for an answer to a question he _kind of_ asked but not really. 

Of fucking course, Louis was not going to say no to that. How could he? Hell, he was sure he wouldn’t deny on a normal day, not to mention a day before the boy was leaving for months. He wasn’t exactly sure of the tour schedule but with the whole of The States to tour, a few dates in South America and Canada, he was bound to be gone for a while. And even if Tomlinson felt like he had quite a practice from the months the two of them spent apart, he was sure he'd come to miss the boy quickly.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” Harry shrugged with faux flippancy, coming to a halt at a red light. “I know I told you I would like to take this slow, but I thought maybe we could make an exception with me going away and stuff?” A slight groove between his eyebrows exposed the complicated thought processes he was getting through in order to convince his friend who hasn’t even needed to be convinced in the first place. “Casual, I’ll come up with something.” 

Louis threw his head back, pressing it into the headrest, breathy laughter vibrating through his exposed throat. "I'm in! Of course, I am." He rolled his eyes, rethinking what he wanted to say. "It's just a bit… strange to be so out in the open?" Louis went for it and voiced his concern that wasn't really a real one, to begin with.

"We can stay in." Harry shrugged, taking a turn in an unknown direction. "Though that could pose a problem with keeping things slow and all of that if you catch my drift."

Well, that one hasn’t exactly discouraged Tomlinson from staying in, he wasn’t sure in what world has the boy thought it would, but it didn’t matter. He was already set on taking things slow, aware that it will take a while before he regains the trust he had and betrayed. 

"No, it's not that I mind that." His head shook to make a claim more believable. "I don't. Just need a bit to get used to that new Harry." 

“But yes? To the meeting?” They caught each other’s gazes at the corner of an eye, exchanging fond smirks.

"Obviously." Louis glanced at the clock, just to check how much time Harry had left before whatever he had to do. "Casual. Outside. Yes." He nodded, Harry's lips bending even further. "Where are you off to after this?" His body, almost subconsciously pivoted towards the driver, eyes fixed on the boy. Only then Louis has realised that he didn't even know where they were going, not really recognising the street they were on. Not that he cared too much, to be honest.

Styles' lips pursed in irritation caused by somebody who swerved into their lane. He cursed under his breath, hand shooting to get the hair away from where it fell on his face. “Marylebone.” He reached for the cupholder, taking a sip of whatever he had in the opaque vessel. “Have a radio thing to do.” 

Sure, he saw that Harry was keeping his answers vague, which could only indicate that perhaps he wasn’t very keen on talking, the memories of the start of their friendship rushing back into Lou's head, eliciting a fond smile from him. “Exciting.” 

"Hardly." Styles scoffed in response. 

Louis unzipped his jacket, the blows of air conditioning pulling beads of sweat out of his pores. “Incredibly thrilled about going back to work, are we?” He tucked a foot under his bum, propping his head on the elbow supported on his knee. 

Harry huffed a breath, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I mean…” A reminder of that old, timid Harry made it through in his voice. “I love my job, you know that I do. And it’s not like I’m not rested.” He scoffed. “So, of course, I am buzzing to go back on the road. Especially now that I sort of feel like I have to make up for the shit that I've pulled if you know what I mean?" Louis only nodded, more encouraging him to speak rather than actually understanding what he meant. "But it's sort of bittersweet, the leaving part." 

“You don’t owe nothing to nobody.” Louis tried to rid of the frown on the boy’s face.

Styles pushed an exasperated sigh out of his lungs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he was clearly going through something in his head. “I don’t think that’s entirely true.” 

“Of course, you don’t.” He couldn’t help the scoff that built up in his throat. “When’s the London show?” 

"Mid-April, I think?" The brunette answered almost mindlessly.

“Make sure to get me on that list, yeah?” His fist shot sideways, nudging the boy’s side.

“First row, of course.” 

"First row is a bit extreme, isn't it?" The writer laughed. "I'm joking!" His hands were up in the air as he threw them. "I'm glad you've called." Louis moved to farewell once he saw Harry making his way up the street he lived on. 

It was weird, but he hasn't even noticed they were in the neighbourhood, not that he paid a lot of attention to anything besides Harry's profile. What he knew though, was the fact that there was no way they have taken the most efficient route from the café to his place, that one taken earlier. Just as if Harry _tried_ to somehow prolong the time they had together, though, with Louis' lack of experience in driving around London, it could've been just a logical thing to do in order to avoid traffic. Still, he'd rather believe the first option.

“I told you I would.” Harry, vouched for his truthfulness and it was fair, it wasn’t habitual for him not to keep his word.

“You told me you were over me.” He argued.

He should’ve thought his words through, the grimace on Styles’ face saying everything there was to say about his eagerness towards returning to the topic of their hardships. “From now on…” The boy squinted at his friend, that tinge of forced authority making a cameo in his voice. “We are not talking about that. Starting fresh, remember?” 

“Oh, of course.” He clapped his hands. “Past? I don’t know her.” 

"Precisely." The boy bit down on his bottom lip, scrutinising his companion's face. It was really quite obvious that neither wanted to say goodbye, but as all good things do, their lunch meeting came to an end. It was _fine._ They weren’t nearly as hopeless without each other as they made it seem like they were, especially with the promise of a meeting the next day. “I’m off at three tomorrow.” 

“I’m off… whenever.” Louis reassured. “You know how packed my schedule gets.” His head shook, hand already reaching for the door. “Casual, yeah?”

“Casual.” Harry nodded. 

With a last look at the singer, Louis opened the door for himself. “See you tomorrow then.” The farewell was the last thing that made it out of his lips. 

Harry mumbled his goodbyes, and after Louis slammed the door shut, objectively putting too much force into that, he was gone instantly. 

-

Louis whistled under his nose, giving another try to that _Best Fiends_ level he’s been stuck on since… Japan. Yep, he was _that_ persistent. Not really, he was just kind of bored. 

Well… not exactly _bored,_ it would be quite an asshole thing for him to claim that he was so incredibly bored, when two out of three of his best mates were right there, on either side of him, watching a rerun of _Love Island_ because Marco insisted that he missed the last episode and neither Louis nor Andrew cared enough to argue their way out that goddamned trash television.

It was four something in the evening, Tomlinson sitting on pins and needles because his meeting with Harry was still very much on, and his pals decided to pop in without a word of notice. What was even worse, was that they never set on a concrete time when Harry was supposed to pick Lou up, so that only added to the suspense.

And he was… _fucked._

Yes, maybe he hasn’t come clean about the fact that he’s been _kind of_ seeing Harry now. Perhaps his friends still lived in belief that the last time he saw the boy was in November during the meeting Louis has described as 'closure', which, of course, was very true _obviously._

So now, he was stuck in that limbo, where he didn’t want his friends to know just yet, sparing them even more of his drama if that still fresh thing he had with Harry goes south, but knew they were bound to find out once the boy pops into his place to pick him up for whatever they were doing later. 

Exiting the game after however many failed attempts, he slid the brightness of his screen all the way down and opened the message thread he had with Harry, pondering over what could save him from the predicament his conniving has landed him in.

The situation felt all too reminiscent of the thing he had with Harry and Jeff, though the stakes were significantly smaller this time. Awareness that the worst-case scenario was his friends being mad at him for like three days before they inevitably reunite, having been through dozens of crisis worse than this, pushed him towards the extra step in his intrigue, which was asking Harry to text him rather than come up once he arrives.

Sure, that wasn't an impeccable strategy, quite flawed one actually, but he was hopeful the rest of the plan would strike him as he waited. Because really, under cover of hanging out with his friends, he was waiting for the evening he had planned with Harry, sitting on the edge of his seat as his cue to leave could come… anytime now.

For the first time in his life, he was ready on time, hell, even earlier than he had to. And _yes_ , one might argue that it was because he ran some errands earlier, and just stayed in his previous, very sophisticated outfit with his jeans, which were already fancy in comparison with his usual sweatpants, and a hoodie his mother got him for Christmas, just the right amount of loose, where there was enough surplus of fabric to provide comfort, without it getting in his way. 

Yeah, maybe he took the 'casual' instructions a bit too literally, but if he wanted to play it off in front of his pals, he couldn't exactly go all out on his outfit. All out as in the same pair of jeans but perhaps something smarter for the top, like a tee-shirt with a jean jacket. That's as elegant as he was willing to go. And let's just say that if he's underdressed, it's Styles' fault with his vague… no, non-existent instructions.

Another over-tanned miss injections was crying about a prince steroids muscles on the telly, when Lou's phone dinged in his hands, a simple 'okay' in response to his text to Harry. Not even a rough estimate when he should be expected. Nothing at all as if he wanted to make the matters as difficult on Louis as he possibly could.

So, they watched the TV, Marco and Andy commenting the episode between each other, while Louis just sat in the middle, Marco's head propped on his shoulder as the writer silently criticised every aspect of the show and judged his friends, having dark thoughts about the future of the society. Partially, it was just him being bitter about being in the pickle he voluntarily found himself in, not learning from his past mistakes because that's just who he was, an idiot.

The episode has ended, Louis scrolling through garbage headlines apparently tailored especially for him by Google, his belief in being invigilated by that evil company kind of subsiding once he found there an array of news regarding literally nothing he was ever interested in. Not one Harry Styles one too, leaving Louis pretty gobsmacked because since he even started thinking about taking the job back in the day, his whole recommendations were filled with various tabloid garbage regarding that boy.

Just when he was about to get a quick snack to silence the violent gurgling of his stomach, his phone dinged in the pouch of his hoodie. And, there it was, his cue to leave. He didn’t even know what prompted this, but he hasn’t said a word as he started putting his outerwear on. With one of his boots already on his foot, he heard Andrew clearing his throat.

"Where are you going?" A shocked expression very out of the ordinary for that, always very blasé lad. 

Louis hasn’t as little as lifted his head from where he was tying his second boot, getting unreasonably irritated at this inquiry. “Out.” He shot the answer as if his friends were the ones acting bizarrely. “You can stay if you want, you know where the key is, yeah?” 

“Oh, we will stay.” A threat resounded in Drew’s voice, clearly indicating that there was no way Lou would escape extensive questioning.

And somehow… he hasn’t really cared all that much, not in that moment. Sure, he still didn’t want his friends to know, but he had more important things on his agenda. Which is why, he shot his best mate a thunderous look, and was already out of the door, illogically opting for the staircase because waiting for the lift seemed like a waste of time, didn’t matter that he arrived at the entrance later than a neighbour he passed on his floor. 

It took him a solid minute to navigate to Harry’s car, though he was glad that the boy decided to stay inside, hidden from curious gazes that Louis just _knew_ were glued to his silhouette from above, watching as he slid himself onto a passenger’s seat and drove off with a mysterious companion. 

"What's up with the secrecy?" Were the first words he heard before he even had a chance to buckle up.

“Just me, trying to avoid unnecessary advice and millions of questions.” His shoulders slumped into the seat, hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. “How are you?” He inquired, half from the courtesy, half from genuine interest. 

Harry's eyes stuck to the rearview mirror as he left the curb and drove off in an undisclosed direction. "A bit tired." A yawn stretched his lips as if Louis needed another confirmation beyond the boy's words. "Hungry. The shoot stretched a bit, we skipped lunch, and we've just finished." He let his eyes slide to the side just for a second. "You?"

“Hungry? Yeah, though I haven’t skipped lunch, I’m just a pig.” The side-eye he got only deepening the smirk his self-deprecating humour elicited. “Tired? I’ve been worse.” His words negated by a yawn that was only because Harry infected him. “Where are we off to?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed a bit, his expression extremely pensive as he struggled his car through afternoon traffic. “I got us tickets for a movie, but we could just ignore it and go eat instead?” 

“Or we could go see the movie and stuff ourselves with nachos until we decide we’re not even hungry anymore?”

“Deal.”

Harry was still a bit groggy after sleeping through the whole movie as they were eating their way through their McDonald’s orders in a car parked in front of the restaurant. For Louis, it was as good as it got, the setting, making the brunette boy as ordinary as everybody around, which was an appreciated change after months of feeling inferior.

Harry fought the fatigue fiercely when they arrived at their first destination, but he stood no chance against the comfortable sofas of the screening room he rented just for them, well… one of them, to watch a very mediocre adaptation of some Broadway play in. The soft cushioning lulling him to sleep not long after Louis stopped talking how absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary it was for him to go to such lengths for them to have a _casual_ date, though, of course, in that case, this was a huge misuse of the word as it was. 

He should have seen this coming, from the moment he heard that they were going to see a movie. There really was no way that Harry Styles could’ve walked into Cineworld on a Sunday afternoon without causing a serious security threat, just no way. So between the two options, their one was better, though Lou could hardly see this being anywhere in the lead of the best things they could’ve been doing with their time.

Fine, he couldn’t exactly claim that laying in front of an oversized TV, sprawled on a sofa he had for himself was something unpleasant. Sure, the movie could’ve been better, but that inconvenience was quickly made up for by Harry, who over his head searched for Lou’s hands to hold, the consciousness of that action still a bit of a mystery. And even if that position was quite awkward, the two of them laying on two different couches, it was familiar, soothing even, something the writer hasn’t realised he needed with his friend going away for quite as long as he was leaving for.

Now, stuffing their faces with leftover chips, with a soft melody of a radio accompanying their dinner, neither knew what the next step was, though Louis sort of thought that Harry had something planned, at least he hoped that the boy had since he hasn’t felt like parting just yet.

Only when he looked at the shining LED numbers that showed him that it was almost nine, he started wondering where the hell has the time gone. They surely haven’t been together for over four hours… were they? Maybe, fuck. With that and the awareness of his friend's early morning flight, he started thinking there was nothing else planned, which wasn't entirely surprising with the evening being advertised as _casual_. 

His guess turned out to be spot-on, ten minutes later the two of them standing on the doormat of Louis' flat, concealed from the sight of curious neighbours with the help of a busted lightbulb nobody cared to change for solid two weeks already.

“How long do we have to stand here for you to invite me for tea?” Harry smirked from across the mat, his hands in the pockets of his coat, slumped stance mimicking the other guy’s posture. 

Louis found himself in a state of not-so-mild panic before he remembered the text he got from Andrew, announcing that the guys relocated somewhere else, with an addition that he was not off the hook just yet, not without explanation.

But that was something future Louis had to worry about, present Louis, without a word, opened the door and just what the brunette boy requested, invited him in. “What tea do you feel like having?” He inquired as he hung their coats by the door.

"Is this a test?" Harry asked, following his friend to the kitchen annexe, reaching for the correct cupboard and pulling out a box of Yorkshire Tea. "The only right choice, is it not?" His chuckle vibrated through the flat, a wave of warmth spilling over Louis when he realised that this was the first time he had Harry back in his place since… no, not thinking about this!

Putting the kettle on, the two of them stood in that small kitchen, unabashedly staring at each other with matching longing in their eyes. But Louis was a good boy, he wasn’t going to make things harder on Harry just because he had a hard time controlling himself around him, especially with the boy leaving so soon. 

And he knew that this was going to happen once they end up being alone somewhere even remotely private, Harry knew that too, so he was partially to blame for their struggle, wasn’t he? Cruel boy, that one. If Tomlinson knew something about him, it was that he more than likely sourced some twisted satisfaction from seeing his friend battling his desire, even if just to touch him.

None of that for him tonight, at least not until the younger one breaks, the writer already set on not instigating anything at all, even at the cost of his own sanity. 

The kettle whistling on the stove, was just the thing they both needed, Louis breaking off from that intense staring contest that somehow arose between them. He filled their cups with water, getting round to finishing their teas according to their usual orders.

Would it be any sort of surprise, if Louis admitted that their tea somehow merged into a full-on snogging session, and through all the steps in between they ended up in the bedroom? Probably not, only a special kind of fool wouldn't see this one coming. From the very start of their reinvented relationship, even claiming that it was still friendly and innocent, the sexual tension between the two was almost as solid as any of them was. As much as they tried to fight it, in spite of everything that told them to let it go and see what happens, they never stood a chance against that overwhelming, almost primal pull that they always had towards each other, even heightened by their previous encounters and awareness what they were capable of.

Breathless and borderline high off of each other, they laid sprawled on the mattress, pale skin shimmering silver in the moonlight that peeked at them from the outside. They were quiet, for a while now, winding down from the peak of their mischief that hasn't even seemed like they were doing anything wrong. Because they weren't, really. Both being adults, they knew what they were getting into, not a single regret in thoughts of either.

“I can’t seem to recall the name, but I remember somebody telling me they wanted to keep things slow…” Louis wondered, teasing the boy who laid underneath him, chest still heaving, the weight of the writer on his body not helping his breathing. 

Harry hasn’t complained though, not daring to even risk the chance of losing the skin-to-skin he was now so obviously desperate for, not having to hide that undeniable need now that he gave a whole show of how much he needed that, Lou’s reactions only showing that the feeling was mutual.

“I don’t know who would that be, sorry.” The brunette chuckled, tracing fingertips over his partner’s arm, just charging his senses with Louis, to keep for later, knowing that no matter what he does, it was not going to be even remotely enough. “Some idiot, I presume.” 

Louis’ grinned at the ceiling he had his eyes stuck to, grasping onto Styles’ fingers for dear life, paying no mind to how clammy their hands had gotten throughout this snuggling session, very reminiscent of the previous events that transpired in that bedroom, passion never before as evident between them as the night of their inevitable parting. 

“When do you have to leave?” Lou’s whole body twisted towards the boy, entrapping him with all the limbs he could possibly use to make the escape as difficult as possible. “Like, absolutely _need,_ not three hours at the airport need.” He mocked his friend’s usual flying etiquette. 

No offence was taken, at least the gentle caressing of Lou’s dewy skin hasn’t indicated that Harry was insulted in any way. To be fair, it was nothing in comparison to the usual teasing the boy had endured a few months in the past. “Three. Three-forty-five if I have somebody drop my luggage at the airport.” 

With the clock showing two in the morning, that left them with not nearly enough time any of them needed to say goodbye properly. “You do that then, three-forty-five.” 

“I could buy us a few extra hours if I flew private.” 

The ease in which that idea slipped off Harry’s tongue, only showed how much he was willing to sacrifice for just a bit more on that stupid bed.

Thankfully enough, the older man was more reasonable than that. “For a small price of thirty times the normal ticket, you can have a few extra hours of being lazy in bed. What a deal.” He scoffed, the sound muffled by the piece of skin his lips were pressed to, very unambiguously pecking the side of Harry’s ribcage, grazing his nose over the trail he marked with kisses. 

“More or less, yeah.” The boy pushed all air out of his lungs at the sudden tickle against his skin. “So worth it, though.”

“Can I have that in writing?” Tomlinson inquired between the pecks, fingertips tickling the opposite side of the boy’s silhouette. “Now that’s a confidence booster to last me a lifetime.” 

"As you wish, notarised and fitted in a nice frame." They laughed in unison at the visual, the noise subsiding till they just silently enjoyed each other's company.

"How many times is too many times to call you?" Harry panted against Tomlinson's lips, the man sat on the edge of the kitchen island, legs squeezing the taller boy, so he doesn't escape, even if they knew they were pushing it already, three-fifty in the morning, and the two of them still amid a snogging session.

“Once a week should be fine, yeah?” Lou’s teeth exposed in a grin. “I wouldn’t want to report an international superstar for stalking.” His chuckle brushed over Harry’s chin. 

“Oh well, that’s not happening.” The brunette pressed his lips together in a smile, shrugging shoulders as the boy renounced all accountability for his own actions. “What are your business hours nowadays?” 

“I’m available in a very narrow window from one in the afternoon till… three in the morning, I think." The man tapped his chin just to seem more like a serious entrepreneur rather than a sad writer, making a living off of middle-tier copywriting jobs. "I'll send you a number to my assistant to schedule a call, yeah? At least a week in advance." 

“Okay, funny man.” Harry’s fingers cupped the naked host’s jawline, tilting his head to the back to grant himself better access to his lips, which he immediately embraced with his own. 

Their tongues slid languidly against each other, the two of them deliriously exhausted after the evening they’ve spent together on top of their separate endeavours. 

“You’re going to miss your flight. They will be angry at you.” Tomlinson nibbled on Harry’s bottom lip. 

“Oops?” Absolutely no remorse in his voice. “You’re sure you can’t tag along?” Something almost desperate in his tone as he voiced a very unrealistic scenario, disregarding at last three times they’ve discussed why this was impossible, just that night only. 

“Maybe your new management would like to hire me to write a nice little book, hmm?” Louis teased, tapping the pads of his fingers over the skin of Harry’s back as he slid his hands underneath the material of the boy’s clothing. “I could use a new gig, not gonna lie.”

To say that Harry was not amused, would be a vast understatement, his expression very indicative of that. “That personal assistant one is still open.” His demeanour changed immediately as he winked, leaning towards to reach Lou’s lips a few more times. 

And of course, they both were aware that this was not something Louis could just do, abandon everything and take off for a month's long trip over both Americas. Sure, he’s done something even less reasonable before with his previous job, but remembering how many times he came to regret that decision, he’d rather stay home and keep a cap on everything regarding his mother, the anxiety he lived with throughout his time away was way too big of a strain on him.

Three-fifty-five. The kiss felt more tremendous than all the previous ones combined, their lungs empty, faces flushed as they kept each other on the verge of suffocating. 

"Call me when you get there, okay?" Louis panted into Harry's lips, now exchanging small pecks as a final goodbye. "Can't wait for you to get back so we can continue taking things slow." His imperfect smile made a cameo even at that moment, the two of them everything but happy.

“Oh, shush.” The brunette chuckled, blinking at his lover with almost palpable fondness in the green of his eyes. A loud sigh escaped his throat. “I had so much fun taking it slow with you tonight.” His cheeks dimpled in a wide grin.

Louis only shook his head, just a smirk on his lips. “You’re not paying a billion for a flight because of me.” He squeezed the brunette’s shoulders and spun him around, pushing away from the door, knowing that this was the only way to send him off. 

One last look at each other, Louis’ hand clutched over the shell necklace Harry insisted he keeps for the time being since the boy kept the actual souvenir, and he was gone, disappeared around the corner, not even steps reaching Tomlinson’s ears as he tried to tune his ears to catch them.

-

“How are we splitting my pay then?” He asked the boy who was staring at him with the most poignant fondness Louis has ever seen in his eyes, glittering at him, the fluttering flame of the candle reflecting in the green globes stuck to Tomlinson’s face. “They would sell out of these cans in no time if they advertised that Harry Styles wrote the descriptions.” A chuckle seeped through his nostrils once he pushed the phone into the pocket of his trousers. 

Harry shook his head, chewing down on the seafood paella he ordered for himself, insisting that Louis just _had to_ try it, no matter that he opted for something different from the menu. “Let’s just say that this one is free.” A sip of chilled wine made it down his throat.

Louis only rose his eyes to the ceiling, accidentally blinding himself with the dim lightbulb hanging above their heads. He never should have doubted Harry’s opinion, though he simply had a hard time believing that the boy wasn’t overselling the place. 

Because really, how much time can a person spend ranting about some random restaurant? He hasn’t counted, of course, he could still suspect that throughout their daily face time catch-ups and calls, especially during the week leading up to the reunion, Harry must’ve spent a solid hour marvelling over the place they were now sat in.

And with all of his advertising… he still ended up underselling the place somehow. It really was worth babbling hours upon hours about. With soft breeze falling through the opened windows, the dim lighting that was everything but accidental, the food, the murmur of the ocean… it was indescribable, even Harry Styles himself, a guy who just whipped out three of the best, stupidly overcomplicated paint descriptions out of his sleeve like it was nothing, unable to convey the scenery with words.

There were people around them, sat by the tables covered with cream, immaculately ironed cloths, enjoying their respective bubbles like the two of them were, unbothered by the company, by the lone waitress that tended to the guests, not even noticing the subtle piano melody pumped through speakers mounted somewhere Louis couldn’t see them.

It didn’t take long for Harry to persuade him into visiting while he was on tour, it was overstatement saying that there needed to be any convincing at all, Louis’ reluctance to being flown to Brasil all gone after months of having Harry back but not _really_ having him. And it was just as good as the boy had promised. No, it was far better.

“Got a bit sunkissed here, forgetting your sunblock much?” Tomlinson grinned from above his half-eaten tuna steak, blindly guiding a fork towards his lips, very unwilling to waste as little as a second not looking at Harry. “I can see Anne getting really interested in that information.” A devilish smirk bent his lips as he threatened his boyfriend (yes, _boyfriend_ ), with his mother. 

Styles really couldn’t have looked simultaneously more and less amused as he shot that truly bizarre look at his partner. “You’re going home this weekend?” He inquired between the bites, maybe rushing just a bit to get out of the restaurant he otherwise would've never rushed to escape. But it was Louis. Louis, who with his slow eating slowly started frustrating Harry, who had some plans for the rest of the evening. 

Neither Louis could've been blamed for trying to drag out the meal in that gorgeous restaurant for a bit longer, nor Harry for dreaming of the complete opposite, pathetically desperate to fill up on his man before he gets taken away from him again for another two, long months. Sure, they had three days for themselves in Rio de Janeiro, but even that felt like a cruel joke to Harry, who would’ve kept his lover in the suitcase if he was only allowed. What hasn’t helped, was the fact that Louis, with his size, would’ve probably fit in one. 

They’ve discussed it thoroughly, the separation and possible solutions for it. Surprisingly enough, Styles hasn’t found himself begging Louis to accompany him nearly as much as he thought he would, all too aware that his partner had reasons to stay in London, work being the least of his concerns. Harry scoffed at the memory he brought up, one of him repeatedly reintroducing the PA job offer when the longing got particularly hard on him.

It wasn't important, though. Not now, anyway. The last thing any of them wanted to think about was not being together, that’s why Harry put these thoughts behind, at least tried to. 

"I am, yes.” The man answered around grilled vegetables he was chewing. “Might stay for a bit longer than I thought I would.”

“Why? Is something not…” Genuine worry immediately erasing the bliss from the boy’s beautifully sculpted features.

Louis, seeing the reaction, quickly chased the bite with a sip of wine, reluctant to leave his partner wondering any longer it was necessary. “No, everything’s fine. Don’t worry.” He reassured the brunette. “I just miss her, as simple as that.”

“I bet she’ll be delighted to have you there.” The smile made it back onto Styles’ lips, disturbed as he poked the tip of his tongue out, swiping the speckle of sauce from his cupid’s bow. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tomlinson answered in a chuckle, picking up the fork more frequently now that he noticed that Harry was almost done with his dish, their desserts already ordered to-go. “But she won’t kick me out, that I know.” 

Harry sort of knew he shouldn’t pick up that particular topic, but he just couldn’t act like there wasn’t this huge question in his head. “How is she?” The boy finally inquired, head propped on the elbow as he already finished eating. 

“Good.” Louis smiled. “But like actually good, she’s been sassier lately, livelier.” 

“You think that’s the treatments?” 

The small frown on Lou’s face disappeared as soon as it settled there. “Yeah, I think...” In his fast tempo of his chewing, only now realising that him being so diligent was sort of wasting their time together, he managed to bite down on the side of his tongue, his pain showing in a grimace. “With the money we’ve wasted, these doctors better do their fucking job for once.” And of course, Louis knew it wasn’t nearly as easy as he made it sound, that awareness not helping with the built-up frustration he carried in himself ever since his mother was diagnosed. 

Another one of those things that Styles knew he shouldn’t bring up, but knew he just _had to_ poke that bear. “You would tell me if you needed money, would you?” An inscrutable expression settled in his features as he tried to catch every shift of his partner’s face.

“I’m fine.” Exasperated, the man let his eyes drift to the sound ocean, only the smallest of waves whispering in the night.

“This is not what I am asking.” Harry stubbornly insisted on getting the answer to _his_ question.

“I would. Promise.” Hoping that his word has restored its initial value, Louis gave it to his boyfriend. 

Seeing that his answer was satisfying enough, Louis found the waitress by one of the tables and requested the bill with a simple gesture. Not long after, they were out of the restaurant. Tomlinson, after no arguing at all, all of that already taken care of during their calls, has paid for their dinner and they left the place, making the few steps it took them to find themselves on the beach, the golden sand still warm beneath their feet as they sat on it, just catching up with each other, million things to talk about, even despite hours upon hours they’ve totalled over the phone. 

“It’s still so weird.” Louis remarked, wiggling his toes from below the sand that tickled his skin. “Not hiding, I mean.” 

Harry’s eyebrows drew together in a slight frown from where he was looking up at his partner, head resting on Louis’ lap. “Good weird or bad weird?” He inquired, just to make sure.

“God, good doesn’t even seem to cut it.” He chuckled. A warm, fuzzy feeling spilt over him at the memory of Harry, for the first time, catching his hand as they walked the busy street of Rio just a few hours ago. If he was to be honest, he was still unsure whether he has gotten off that high yet. It didn't feel like it. "What's beyond good, mister poet?" He leaned down, sandwiching Harry's face between his flat palms. Now that they were alone, he could let loose on the PDA, couldn't he?

That’s what he did, let go of the caution and started pressing loud, most definitely not in the literal meaning of the word, kisses to the boy’s plump lips, the large face of the moon the only witness to how unbearably desperate for each other the two of them were.

“This.” Styles sucked his bottom lip under his teeth, his expression stupid as a result of the grin that he simply couldn’t push back. “I can hardly see anything being even remotely as good as this.” 

Louis chuckled silently, letting his hands entangle with his partner's hair, caressing his scalp with his fingertips, fully ignoring the beautiful scenery in front of him, eyes fixed on his boy's face, sound and smirking, eyes closed as he let himself enjoy the tender touch. 

"Fucking hell." Louis scoffed, shaking his head just barely so. "I don't think you even realise how absolutely gone for you I am, Styles." A wave of something so… he couldn’t even name it, spilt over him once he let these words fall off his lips. His head fell back so the dumb tears welling in his eyes could go away.

Was it early? With two months of their redefined relationship, not even two days physically spent together, one could claim that it was foolish of him to declare something so serious, accuse him of acting in the heat of the moment, throwing his words to the wind, but the thing was… he was not, and now that he thought about it, he hasn't remembered ever being so certain of anything in his life. 

It was so idiotic that his feelings only became so obvious to him once he came so close to losing Harry forever, only the boy’s resilience responsible for the two of them finding their way back to each other. Because as much as he didn’t like to think about things in these categories, he couldn’t even imagine himself with someone other than Harry. 

With all the things the two of them agreed not to talk about anymore, they’ve made it, Harry’s perseverance only indicative of the fact that Lou’s feelings were reciprocated, his hopes for the future… all of it.

“Oh, I’m aware.” Brunette's unaffected act ruined by the breaking of his voice, hand raking through the dry sand to find Louis', fingers entwined in a matter of seconds. "Feels quite nice to hear that though." He struggled a chuckle through the obstruction in his throat, thumb rubbing Louis' palm as he puckered his lips, accepting a sweet peck to his lips.

“Love you so much.” Tomlinson whispered when in reality, he would rather shout it out for the whole world to hear. Small steps though, this was enough for now. 

And maybe there was a tear that slipped down his cheek as he thanked whatever it was that decided his fate. No words were big enough as thanks for giving him that boy, the boy who somehow ended up choosing him, a fool that was nowhere near deserving of the privilege of ever calling Harry his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time has come to conclude this particular journey. I'm sure I haven't met everybody's expectations towards the ending, but I'm hopefull it's is at least satisfactory and hasn't left any of you disappointed.  
>  It's always sad to say goodbye to a story and the characters but then, I have so many ideas I've been keeping in the drafts that I am excited to tackle, so it makes the parting easier.  
>  Every good thing comes to an end eventually and I think it's been a good run, especially that most of y'all are probably annoyed with me dragging shit out as it is.  
>  Special thanks to the bunch that was gassing me up throughout this journey, commenting so frequently and providing me with more serotonin than I am used to getting. I'm not going to name any names, not to exclude anybody, but you know who you are. You lot never failed to pick me up from whatever block i might have fallen into. You're incredible and thank you so much, i don't know if i would be able to finish this story had it not been for your kind words.This journey, even if not completely turbulence-free writing wise, was so enjoyable and that's all because I could see that there were people liking what I've spent time creating.  
>  Of course, this is not the last of me, though I can't vouch how long the break is going to last now that I'm going back to Uni, which obviosly is priority. If some of you decide to wait for more of my stuff, I highly encourage to check out my first fic, These Four Walls, if you haven't yet. It's quite different from this one but I'm still quite proud of it, so maybe that's something that could keep you busy.  
>  If you enjoyed the story and might know somebody who you think would like it as well, I encourage you to share a link so it doesn't die now that it's over like my previous story has.  
>  I will be reading through the story once again and tweaking things grammar and formating wise, so the end product is as good as I can get it.  
>  Once again, thanks to everybody who took time reading this story, commented, gave kudos or shared it. To anybody who decides to stick around to see what else I have in my sleeve, see you when the time is right :)  
>  Hold tight, daddyheloveshim (aka @gerardisonfire on Twitter)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for taking your time to read my stuff, I encourage to leave something after yourself :)  
>  You can find me on Twitter @gerardisonfire.


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